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    The Story

    of Martha

          DAN ABNETT

               with

           David Roden,

    Steve Lockley & Paul Lewis,

         Robert Shearman,

         and Simon Jowett

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2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Published in 2008 by BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing.

Ebury Publishing is a division of the Random House Group Ltd.

© Dan Abnett, David Roden, Steve Lockley & Paul Lewis, Robert Shearman, SimonJowett, 2008

The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this Work inaccordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

Doctor Who is a BBC Wales production for BBC One Executive Producers: RussellT Davies and Julie Gardner

Original series broadcast on BBC Television. Format © BBC 1963. `Doctor Who',`TARDIS' and the Doctor Who logo are trademarks of the British BroadcastingCorporation and are used under licence.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in aretrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyrightowner.

The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 954009.

Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found atwww.randomhouse.co.uk.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 1 846 07561 2

The Random House Group Limited supports the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC),the leading international forest certification organisation. All our titles that are printedon Greenpeace approved FSC certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paperprocurement policy can be found at www.rbooks.co.uk/environment

Series Consultant: Justin Richards

Project Editor: Steve Tribe

Cover design by Lee Binding © BBC 2008

Typeset in Albertina and Deviant Strain

Printed and bound in Germany by GGP Media GmbH

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Recent titles in the Doctor Who series:

MARTHA IN THE MIRROR

Justin Richards

SNOWGLOBE 7

Mike Tucker

THE MANY HANDS

Dale Smith

GHOSTS OF INDIA

Mark Morris

THE DOCTOR TRAP

Simon Messingham

SHINING DARKNESS

Mark Michalowski

BEAUTIFUL CHAOS

Gary Russell

THE EYELESS

Lance Parkin

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Contents

The Story of Martha part 1   Dan Abnett

     Chapter One

     Chapter Two

     Chapter Three

The Weeping                  David RodenThe Story of Martha part 2   Dan Abnett

     Chapter Four

     Chapter Five

     Chapter Six

Breathing Space              Steve Lockley & Paul LewisThe Story of Martha part 3   Dan Abnett

     Chapter Seven

     Chapter Eight

     Chapter Nine

     Chapter Ten

     Chapter Eleven

The Frozen Wastes            Robert ShearmanThe Story of Martha part 4   Dan Abnett

     Chapter Twelve

     Chapter Thirteen

     Chapter Fourteen

Star-Crossed                 Simon JowettThe Story of Martha part 5   Dan Abnett

     Chapter Fifteen

     Chapter Sixteen

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               The Story of Martha

                  Transmission begins:

 Space Lane Traffic is advised to stay away from Sol: 3,

  also known as Earth. Pilots are warned Sol: 3 is now

  entering Terminal Extinction. Planet Earth is closed.

     Planet Earth is closed. Planet Earth is closed...

It felt as if the whole world was made out of night.

    Their small boat was running the tide inshore towardsan invisible coast. Above them hung ink-black air, starlessand heavy. Below them, the sea was as dark as the sky. Itbroke around the bows like black glass.

    The little outboard motor chugged to itself. They werebarely leaving a wake.

    `The south coast grid can pick up a sonar echo at thirtymiles,' one of the men in the shiny black oil slickers hadtold her when they embarked at Dunkirk. `We'll be goingsoftly, taking it slow.'

    The two men in the shiny black oil slickers wereUnderground, of course. They were the last cell team totake up the tortuous relay that had conducted her from theCursus Hill meet near the Orleans forage camps, aroundthe Paris Crater, and then north through the burned fieldsof Picardy and Artois to Flanders, and the fortified seawalls and razor wire of the Channel coast. Like thesmugglers of old, they knew the ways in and the ways out,and could navigate the darkness by smell and by touch: an

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old art, relearned. Sometimes, they even made it backalive.

   The enclosing night was cool, and smelled of brine andChannel breezes. They'd waited at Dunkirk for two days,hoping for fog, but it was unseasonably clear, as ifsomething was screwing with the weather patterns.Something, she thought, far more insidious than globalwarming.

   In the end, she'd been the one who'd decided to go.Time was running out. The year was almost up. Thestalwart men in their shiny black oil slickers had nodded.They would do their best. It was her, after all. So muchdepended upon her. As the year had gone by, she hadacquired an extraordinary degree of fame that had begunto bother her. They treated her with a respect that borderedon reverence, as if she was some kind of legend or saint.She knew they would willingly die for her. She hoped itwouldn't come to that.

   She sat on one of the wooden bracket seats, rockingwith the motion of the little boat. Her leather jacket wasbuttoned up tight, and her nylon-weave rucksack hungheavily against her back. She tried to clear her head andprepare herself. She breathed deeply, smelled the sea saltin her nostrils, and stared straight ahead. The men in theshiny black oil slickers didn't speak.

   The significance of their embarkation point had notescaped her: Dunkirk. Her kid brother, Leo, had been anenthusiastic reader of Commando comics as a child. Sheknew all about Dunkirk, and here she was, in a small boat,heading home despite terrible misfortune, ready to take a

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defiant stand against an apparently invincible enemy thatbelieved it had already won.

   There was so much to do, such vast odds to face down.The Doctor had trusted her, but she wondered if she wasworth the trust. In her mind, she saw his kind, brown eyes,youthful and unchanged despite the age that had witheredand creased his beautiful face. There had been perfectbelief in them, a belief in her.

   A year had passed since then. It had been hard, andthere were parts of it that made her memory ache. She hadendured every second of those twelve months. She hadpersevered. She had walked the Earth, and witnessedthings that she would never forget: the islands of Japan onfire, New York in ruins, the poisoned Caspian, the frozenNile, Shipyard Number One that had once been Russia.She had been through it all, and she had no way ofknowing if her struggle had been anything like enough.

   The year hung on her like a dead weight, and shedearly wished she could cast it off, erase it, dismiss it,wipe it out and start again, fresh. If only. If only it couldbe a year that never was.

   That was a wish that couldn't be granted. The past yearwas real, and it was unchangeable. Most of her choiceshad been made for her, and it was up to her to do the rest.

   It was up to her to finish it. It was up to her to save theworld.

   But how do you save a world that's already lost?

   `Two minutes,' whispered one of the men in the shinyblack oil slickers. She stiffened. The engine chugged.

   `I don't see anything,' the other man hissed. `There's

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nothing there.'

   `Wait,' she said. `They'll come. They have to come.'

   The boat rocked under the blanket of darkness. Theengine gurgled, idling.

   `If they don't show,' said the first man, `we'll have toturn back. You understand that? We will have to turnaround. We can't stay out here, not even for you.'

   She nodded.

   `It won't come to that, Mathieu,' she replied. `Youtrusted me once. Trust me again.'

   He nodded. Even in the dark, she could tell hisexpression was less than convinced.

   She didn't even believe herself.

   A small, blue-white light appeared in the darknessahead of them, tiny but stark. Once again, she wasreminded of smugglers and the old days. It was a halogenlamp, flashing once, twice; a little cold star shining on anunseen beach.

   `There!' she said.

   The light began to swing, gently, from side to side.

   Mathieu's comrade rose in the bows, and flashed hislamp back: two solid clicks.

   They came in through the breakers, the outboardthrobbing. She felt the boat's belly scrape and rumbleacross the shingle. Mathieu and his comrade jumped outinto the water in their shiny black oil slickers, steadyingthe sides of the boat against the ebb. She got up andjumped out. Cold water sucked at her legs.

   She looked back at the men wrangling the small boat.She couldn't see their faces. She wished she could.

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    `Make it right,' Mathieu said, out of the darkness.

    `I will.'

    `God bless you,' said the other man.

    `I'm hoping we can settle this before it becomes amatter for God,' she said. `Thank you, both, I--'

    They didn't reply. They were already pulling the boatback off the shore, eager to turn around for France.

    She ran up the beach towards the light. Her wet bootscrunched over damp sand and pebbles. People had playedhere once. They had built sandcastles, licked ninety-nines,knotted handkerchiefs around their heads, and set up deckchairs and gaudy windbreaks.

    She tried her hardest not to think about that. She turnedand waved a last goodbye to the men in the shiny black oilslickers. They were too busy heaving the boat into thesea's back-splash to do more than half-raise their hands inresponse.

    A young man was waiting for her on the foreshore, justbeyond the tide reach. He held a halogen lamp in his hand.He was good-looking, tall, dark-haired and bearded, andhe was dressed in fatigues. He watched her approach witha solemn, unsmiling face.

    She came up to face him, slightly out of breath.

    `What's your name, then?' she asked.

    `Tom,' he said. `Milligan. No need to ask who you are.Famous Martha Jones. How long since you were last inBritain?'

    `Three hundred and sixty-five days,' Martha replied.`It's been a long year.'

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One Year Earlier

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    Travelling by vortex manipulator hurt. It hurt a lot.

    Martha hit the grass, rolling, gasping. Her sinuses ached.

    There was blood in her throat. Her organs felt like they'd

    been used as a boxer's speed bag. Captain Jack Harkness's

    teleport was right up there in the Top Five Worst Ways To

    Travel.

       The instant before, she had been standing on the

    polished deck of HMS Valiant, the Master's airborne

    carrier base. She lay back on the damp grass for a

    moment, recovering her wits, remembering the scene.

    They had lost. They had lost everything. The Master had

    outplayed them at every step. The radio channels were

    frantic with transmissions of despair and astonishment.

    Jack had died at least once, Martha's family were

    prisoners, and the Doctor...

       The Doctor...

       Martha swallowed. She was determined not to cry. It

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served no purpose. It was weak, and the Doctor wastrusting her not to be weak.

   The Doctor...

   The Master had aged the Doctor using a process builtinto his laser screwdriver. The Doctor had become old,very old a helpless wizened shell. That had been,perhaps, the worst thing of all, to see the youthful, vitalbeing she adored reduced to geriatric frailty. His eyes, hiskind eyes, had cruelly remained young. They had stared ather fiercely, lost and hopeless, dismayed to findthemselves imprisoned in a failing, infirm body that couldno longer bound between stars and joke in the face of theimpossible.

   As the Master clapped and capered, the ancient thingthat had once been the Doctor had leaned towards her, andwhispered in her ear, just a few words. They were wordsMartha would never forget.

   `We can't stop him,' Jack had gasped at her, comingback from the dead. `Get out of here.'

   With one last, hopeless glance at her mum, dad, andsister, Martha had triggered the vortex manipulator Jackhad given her. She never ran from a fight, but she knewwhen a fight was lost. It felt like she was abandoningthem, but she knew it was the only choice, not just for hermum and dad, or Tish or Jack, or even the Doctor, but forthe entire human race. It was the only choice. If there waseven a chance she could do what the Doctor had asked herto do, then she had to try.

   Bang! One press of the manipulator, and Martha wasEarth-side, rolling on damp grass, groaning in pain. She

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rose to her feet, unsteadily.

    London lay before her. Like a blizzard of angrymeteors, the Toclafane were hailing down, sweepingtowards the city. The Toclafane were the Master's newallies. He had brought them here, by invitation. Metalspheres the size of soccer balls, the Toclafane sang as theyswept in out of the clouds. Their voices were the voices ofchildren, light, carefree, gleeful. Their wicked blades wereout, their weapons flashing. Six billion cybernetic globes,singing childish songs of murder and malice, weredescending on the Earth to exact decimation, as per theMaster's unequivocal instruction.

    Decimation. One in ten. One in ten must die.

    Martha watched the flocks of globes rushing overhead,cackling and chuckling, zigging and zagging, zipping outsearing beams of destructive energy. People, screamingand running in panic, burned to ashes as they dashed forcover. The park around her was littered with fires, andthousands of explosions pinpricked the London skyline.

    Martha stood for a moment, stunned by the enormity ofthe Master's lethal tithe. Planet Earth was dying. TheToclafane were committing mass murder. She knew thesame scene was being repeated all around the world. Thehuman race was being culled, cowed and conquered. In amatter of minutes, Martha's species was beingtransformed into a cowering slave race.

    She was determined not to cry.

    Breathing hard, she glared up at the shoals of Toclafanesweeping overhead.

    `I'm coming back,' she said.

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    Aleesha ran. She was nine years old. A flying metal ball

    had reduced her Aunt Charley to ashes, and when

    Charley's husband Grant had screamed at the ball, and

    tried to hit it with a rounders bat, it had incinerated him,

    too.

        Aleesha had been staying with her aunt and uncle for

    the day. Her mum had gone up town to do some shopping.

    Her dad was out in Iraq, and sent letters when he could.

    Aleesha liked hanging out with Aunt Charley. Aunt

    Charley had a wicked sense of humour, and allowed

    Aleesha to play with the Wii even if there was still

    homework to do.

        Aleesha didn't properly understand what had happened

    that morning. The sight of a flying metal ball making her

    aunt vanish was too improbable. She kept expecting Aunt

    Charley to appear from somewhere, laughing. `Gone?

    Me? Not me, baby 'Leesha. It's like a magic trick.'

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   Aleesha knew that if her daddy didn't come back fromIraq, it would be because of something tangible like abullet or a bomb. No one had told her that people couldvanish like a puff of cinders just like that! if ahumming ball hovered into the room.

   The metal ball had spun in place, tilting, as if it waslooking at her. Blades had flicked in and out of its casing.Aleesha waited, braced, for it to zap at her, but it had justrotated again and zoomed off out of the kitchen window.

   Then Aleesha had run.

   She had been running for two weeks.

   The streets were mostly empty. There was no traffic.The skies, empty of planes from Stanstead and Gatwick,had turned beautifully clear.

   Aleesha raided corner shops for chocolate and out-of-date sandwiches. She slept in empty houses and flatswhere the front doors had been left open.

   Once in a while, some of the metal balls would zipoverhead, laughing to themselves. Army trucks loadedwith armed men grumbled past from time to time, butAleesha avoided them, even though they reminded her ofher dad.

   There was nothing on the telly. She tried every set shefound. The radio was dead too, tuned out to static. Hungrydogs, missing their masters, barked and growled in theback gardens of estates.

   On the fourteenth day, chomping on a tuna sandwichfrom a plastic carton, Aleesha noticed how weeds hadbegun to flourish in lawns and flowerbeds.

   She wondered how much longer her mum would be.

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How long did it take to go shopping up town?

                            * * *

Catford was no-go. The Unified Containment Forces hadstrung razor-wire barricades across the South Circular.There were sand-bagged machine-gun posts guarding theway in through Peckham.

   From a flat in Deptford, Martha observed theContainment Forces through a pair of binoculars she'dliberated from a sporting goods store in Fulham: armytypes, mostly men, a few women, all dressed in blackcombat drills, all humping MP5s and waist-harnessedGlocks. They were the business. The Master hadn't beenmucking about when it had come to recruiting. Marthawondered how much the Master was paying them. Howwas he paying them? What was he paying them with?

   One thing was sure: Martha didn't want to face hisprivate army. They were the kind of hard-marrowed killerswho'd shoot on sight. They were the executors of MartialLaw.

   She slipped between them instead. Her key let her dothat. It hung around her neck on a loop of string. TheDoctor had made it for her, using a TARDIS key. They'dbeen eating fish and chips, her, Jack and the Doctor,hiding out in an abandoned warehouse. The key was aperception filter. It didn't render her invisible, just...inconsequential. The perception filter field generated bythe adapted key allowed her to walk where she liked.People could see her, they just didn't really notice her. The

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filter blended her into the background.

    Martha started. Gunfire, automatic fire, chattered a fewstreets away. The Containment Forces were at worknearby. Despite the protection of the key, Martha packedher things into her rucksack, and got ready to move. Shehad to find a new place to hide.

    She felt safer when she was hiding.

`Hello, what's this?' asked Griffin. Rafferty slung his MP5over his shoulder and turned to look where Griffin waspointing.

   A high-end Land Rover had just swung into the street,flanked by two UCF outriders on BMW bikes. The LandRover had been painted matt black, and UCF decals hadbeen fixed to the doors.

   `A potential pain in the backside, from the look of it,'Rafferty replied.

   `Bowen, finish up!' Griffin called. `Nice and tidy!'

   `Yes, chief!' Bowen sang back. The squad was loadinga group of dissidents into an open-back Scammell, readyto ship them off to the new labour camp in Bromley. Theywere a rag-tag bunch, miserably hunched, their hands ontheir heads. They jumped every time one of the squadteam moved, or adjusted a weapon. Some of them werecrying. One of them was nervously tapping his fingersagainst his thigh. Tap-tap-tap-tap! Tap-tap-tap-tap!

   `Get into the truck!' Bowen shouted. `I won't tell youtwice!'

   On the pavement in front of a newsagent's shop, sixlimp bodies lay under bloodstained sheets. You have to

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make an impression, Griffin believed. You have to showthese losers who's in charge. It's a new world all of asudden.

    The Land Rover pulled up. The outriders halted, andput their feet down. As he walked towards the Land Roverwith Rafferty in tow, Griffin could hear the bikes' radioschatter and pip.

    A woman got out of the Land Rover. Like Griffin andhis team, she was dressed in black combat drills. She wastall and good-looking, with short, groomed blonde hair.

    `I'm looking for UCFA Griffin,' she announced.

    `That's me, ma'am,' Griffin replied.

    The woman looked at him, and they exchanged salutes.`I'm ADC Dexter,' she said.

    `I know exactly who you are, ma'am,' Griffin said. `Ithought the likes of you preferred to stay aboard theValiant. Getting your boots dusty for a change, ma'am?'

    `The likes of me?' the ADC sniffed.

    Griffin shrugged.

    `I don't mean nothing by it,' he said. `How can I helpyou?'

    The ADC pulled out a packet of sealed orders andhanded them to Griffin. He tore them open and read them.`Hard target search, UCFA Griffin,' the woman said. `AClass Alpha dissident is suspected at large in this vicinity.Our Master wants her brought in. Your squad's assigned tothis district, so you get the honours.'

    `Lucky us,' muttered Rafferty.

    `Martha Jones,' Griffin read. `Who's Martha Jones?'

    `A known associate of the Doctor,' the woman said.

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`She's been on the run since Day Zero. Absconded fromthe Valiant by teleport.'

    `She armed?' asked Griffin.

    `Unlikely.'

    `Dangerous?'

    `Also unlikely. Our Master doesn't think she posesmuch of a threat at all, to be honest, but he's particularlyedgy when it comes to all things Doctor-related. MarthaJones is a loose end that Our Master would like tidied up.'

    `Begging your pardon, ma'am,' said Rafferty, `but whatmakes you think this Jones woman is in this district?'

    `It's all in the report,' replied the ADC. `She used ateleport system to abscond, like I said. The Valiant'ssensor systems have identified her set-down site:Handcross Park.'

    Griffin sniffed. `That's twenty miles away. And the fixis two weeks cold. She could be anywhere.'

    `She's here,' replied the ADC. `We've had severalreports of her operating with dissident groups. Do a houseto house, if you have to.'

    The ADC turned, as if to leave. She paused.

    `She'll be disguised,' she added.

    `Disguised?' asked Griffin. `What? Like a fakemoustache and glasses?'

    `She's using a perception filter,' said the ADC.

    `And what's that?'

    `It's hard to explain. She'll be tricky to spot. Hard tofocus on. Your eyes will look elsewhere. Your mind willtry not to notice her. Be alert. The moment you get afunny feeling, sharpen up. It'll be her.'

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   In the old days, Griffin would have laughed in her face.A perception filter? That sounded a little bit too sci-fi forhis tastes, but things had changed in the last fortnight, andGriffin was open to a whole new world of wonder.

   `This sounds like a job for the Toclafane, ma'am,' hesaid.

   `The Toclafane can't read her,' said the ADC. `Thisrequires human senses.'

   `If you say so, ma'am.'

   `It won't be easy, but you will see her, because youwant to see her. Our Master was quite specific. Walk withme a moment, Griffin.'

   Griffin followed her away from the Land Rover and thewaiting bikes. Behind them, Bowen was yelling at thedissidents for moving too slowly. The ADC smelled goodin the warm sunlight. Griffin liked the smell of ahandsome woman, even one in authority. At almost twometres, he towered over her, and his ex-SAS honed bulkeclipsed her.

   `May I be candid, UCFA Griffin?' the ADC askedquietly.

   `Candid as you like, ma'am.'

   `Jones may have fallen into your district, but we'rekeen to have you work this for us. Our Master believesthat you have training and skills that can be of particularuse. He's reviewed your file, Griffin. He's taken apersonal interest. He thinks you're the man for the job.'

   `I'm flattered, ma'am,' said Griffin.

   `And you'll be rewarded, Griffin. There's a chairopening up on the Sector Council. You pull this off, and

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I'll propose you myself. No more getting your bootsdusty. You'll be a serious link in the chain of command.Besides which, you'll have come to the personal notice ofOur Master. And that's how advancements are made.'

    `I'll get right on it, ma'am,' Griffin smiled. His smilewas not at all friendly, given the horizontal scar that splithis cheek and lip, trophy of a Helmand Province tour.

    The ADC nodded. `This order supersedes all others.Hand off district duties to a subordinate. Form a killteam.'

    `You want her dead, then?'

    `Our Master wants her, period, Griffin. Hard target. Itrust you won't be distracted by her good looks?'

    Griffin looked at the order packet. `She's certainly apretty thing, ma'am,' he admitted, `but you can trust menot to be swayed. Our Master only employsprofessionals.'

    `Good to hear,' she said. She handed Griffin a mobilephone. `Memory one is a direct line to me on the Valiant.Stay in touch. Keep me appraised. I'll do my best to giveyou all the support and back-up you need.'

    Griffin looked at the phone.

    `Our Master is really serious about this woman,' hesaid.

    `He really is,' she replied.

He left Bowen to handle the snivelling dissidents. Hedrew out a core team to run with him: Bob Rafferty, hisold oppo from Helmand; Lol Barker, an ex-para with a no-quit attitude he admired; Sean Jenks, another ex-para

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who'd seen service in Rwanda and Fallujah; Gordon`Toffy' Bremner, a Royal Marine who'd done twentymonths in Basra; and `Yank' James Handley, an ex-USMCsergeant attached to the United States Secret Service.Griffin didn't know much about Handley's background.Handley had eagerly jumped into the Master's mercenaryranks when his principal, President Winters, had beenassassinated by the Toclafane aboard the Valiant on DayZero. Griffin reckoned that Handley wouldn't have madeSecret Service without proper chops and, besides,Handley had killer eyes that Griffin had warmed to themoment he'd met him. Stone cold, grey, like wet slate. Aman with eyes like that had to be useful.

   They borrowed a UCF Humvee. Griffin held up thepicture.

   `Martha Jones,' he said.

   `Sweet,' said Handley, with a whistle.

   `She's proper easy on the eyes, chief,' said Rafferty.

   `Contain yourselves,' Griffin snapped. He moved thephoto aside, so it was out of their immediate vision.

   `Still see her?' he asked.

   `I saw her better when she was pointing at me, chief,'said Jenks.

   `Get used to it. This'll be how it is. Sexy Martha isusing a perception filter. You won't see her. She'll blind-side you.'

   The men looked at him, waiting for the punchline.

   `I'm serious,' Griffin said. `She'll blend in. She'll bestanding right beside you, and you won't know it.'

   The men began to scoff.

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   `Shut up,' Griffin told them. `This is why I picked you.You've all got the sense. The smarts. It's why you're alivetoday. You can all feel it when something's not right. I'mcounting on that. This Jones girl is going to be hard tofind. But if we do it, if we drag her in, dead or alive, mindyou, then we will make Our Master seriously happy. Wantyour own island in the Med, Raff?'

   `Thank you, chief!' Rafferty laughed.

   `Want to be king of Africa, Toffy?'

   `If the job's going begging, chief.'

   `Want to be President of the United States, Yank?'

   Handley smiled. `I'd make a better fist of it than thelast four clowns put together, Griff,' he chuckled.

   `That's what this job could mean for us,' said Griffinsoftly. `The personal favour for Our Master. Because he'smaster of the world, and he's asking us to do this. I'm notscrewing around with you. This is the big one.'

   The men growled their approval.

   `Lol?' Griffin called out.

   Lol Barker put the Humvee in drive and they prowledforward.

   `Where do we start, chief?' asked Rafferty.

`I like your earrings,' said Aleesha.

    `What?' asked Martha, coming to a halt.

    `I like your earrings. My mum has some just likethem.'

    Martha stared down at the little girl. It was just gettingdark. The vacant street and the empty houses around themfelt all the more vacant as night closed in.

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   `You can see me?' asked Martha, smiling slightly.

   Aleesha looked at her as if Martha had said somethingstrange and grown-up.

   `Of course I can. Why wouldn't I?'

   `Well,' Martha began. `I... Do you really think youshould be eating that?' she added.

   Aleesha looked down at the mouldy egg saladsandwich she had taken from the corner shop. `Probablynot. It's a bit yuck.'

   `What's your name?' Martha asked.

   `Aleesha,' Aleesha replied.

   Martha bent down and faced her.

   `You can really see me?' she asked.

   `I can't any more,' Aleesha said, frowning. `Why can'tI? You're right there. I saw your pretty earrings. Theywere glittery.'

   Martha took off the key and put it in her pocket.`Better?' she asked.

   `Oh yeah! I can see you, all properly. What's yourname?'

   `I'm Martha.'

   `Hello, Martha, I'm Aleesha.'

   `Hello, Aleesha,' Martha said.

   `How did you do that, Martha?' Aleesha asked. `Like...pop!'

   `It's...' Martha began. She wanted to use the words`perception filter', but she knew that would end up beingtoo complicated.

   `I wish my mum would appear like that,' said Aleesha.`I keep expecting her to come back. Pop. I don't think

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she's ever going to come back.'

   `Come on, Aleesha, of course she will.'

   `I think she's ashes,' said Aleesha.

   Martha took a quick, deep breath. She wouldn't cry, notin front of the little girl.

   `Thank you, Aleesha,' she said.

   `What for?'

   `For noticing my earrings. I think I should take themoff.' Martha began to wind the studs out of her ears.

   She looked up. She'd heard the sound of an engine, abig engine. A UCF Humvee had just turned into the street.

   Martha put the key back on and took Aleesha's hand.`Aleesha?'

   `Yes, Martha?'

   `I need you to come with me. I need you to run.'

   `I can do that,' said Aleesha.

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    `Did you see that?' asked Rafferty. `Fifty yards down

    on the right. I saw something move.'

        `So did I, chief,' Jenks told Griffin. `It looked like a

    little girl. I think she went in through those houses.'

        `I don't think she was alone,' said Rafferty.

        `You see a second body?' asked Griffin.

        `No,' said Rafferty. `That's what I'm talking about.'

        Griffin nodded. He checked the tactical log via the

    vehicle's dashboard PC. Over Watch appraisals reported a

    dissident group operating in the vicinity, but he could see

    the look on Rafferty's face.

        `I saw the little girl, chief,' said Rafferty. `I only

    realised there was someone with her when they were

    gone.'

        `Go!' ordered Griffin.

        Barker hit the brakes, and the squad dismounted.

    Safeties clacked off. They moved like shadows through

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the dusk, skirting abandoned cars.

   Griffin prowled forwards. Half an egg salad sandwichlay on the pavement, spilling from its plastic carton.Griffin raised his hand and made a series of quick gesture-commands. The men spread out. Barker led the way downan alley between the houses, his MP5 raised to hisshoulder.

   Griffin followed him. Could they really have got solucky so soon?

Aleesha was keeping up pretty well. Hand in hand, theycrossed a concrete yard edged by private garages, and thenran through a communal lawn area between three blocksof flats. A swing set and a miniature roundabout weresurrounded by over-long, unmown grass.

   Martha felt her heart racing. As the Doctor's travellingcompanion, she had experienced her fair share ofdangerous escapades and close calls, but this wasdifferent. This felt unpleasantly real. The Doctor wasn'tthere to lift her spirits or explain the fantastical away. Shewas afraid. There were men with guns closing in behindthem.

   Martha was already beginning to despair over themission the Doctor had sent her on. Two weeks since DayZero, and she'd barely begun. She hadn't even left SouthLondon. She'd made ineffectual contact with a few groupsof survivors, but they'd been too preoccupied with theday-to-day problems of finding food, water and places tosleep to pay her much attention. Martha was pretty sure atleast one of the groups had given up info about her to the

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UCF in the hope of getting an amnesty.

    Walk the Earth. Spread the word. It was just ridiculous.It was simply impossible. She was one woman. Her skillsbase did not cover urban survival or covert ops. She waslearning all the time, but she kept making elementarymistakes. Sooner or later, something stupid was going toget her killed. Her earrings, for instance. Bright, shinyearrings. The little girl hadn't seen Martha, but she'd seenher earrings. Stupid, stupid.

    Martha was pretty fit, but not fit enough for this kind ofcovert living. She'd been sleeping rough, sleeping badly,and her diet was lousy. She was tired all the time, and thelittle sleep she did get was populated by the Toclafane, theMaster's smile and the Doctor's disappointed eyes.

    They ran into the entrance hall of one of the blocks offlats. Martha pulled Aleesha in against the wall, and madea shushing gesture against her lips with her finger. Aleeshanodded, her eyes wide.

    Martha snuck a look back. Outside, in the dying light,the communal court was empty. Somewhere, a famisheddog was howling. A few, random street lamps, activatedby light sensors, had begun to shine sodium yellow.

    A man appeared. He was dressed in black and armed. AContainment Forces Agent. He edged out into the open,and came to a halt beside the swing set. He panned hisautomatic weapon around, then gestured. Two more menappeared, and then a fourth. They fanned out. The firstman rested his foot against the recycled rubber seat of theswing and set it swaying, to and fro, on its chains. Thechains squealed as they swung.

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   Martha knew she could find somewhere, hide, and letthe perception filter do the rest, but she had the little girlto worry about. Aleesha didn't have a perception filter,and she certainly wasn't bullet-proof. Martha couldn't justleave her.

   Aleesha had already been left, in the worst way. Marthawondered how long Aleesha had been waiting for hermum. The little girl might have been on her own for aslong as two weeks.

   That thought brought hot tears up in Martha's eyes. Shebreathed hard. She refused to cry. She absolutely wouldn'tcry.

   She wondered if she wanted to cry for Aleesha, for theDoctor, for the world... or just for herself, for being souseless. He should never have trusted her. She almosthated the Doctor for asking so much of her.

   The UCF agent by the swing set turned, as if he hadsensed her deep intake of breath, or had smelled her tears.He gestured and pointed. The men closed in around himand jogged towards the block of flats. There were six ofthem now.

   `Up,' Martha whispered in Aleesha's ear. As quietly asthey could, they ran up a flight of concrete steps into thebase level of the tower block. The grubby stairwell ledaway above them, but to the left was an arch of twilight,an access way onto an upper court.

   Martha gripped Aleesha's hand firmly and led herthrough the arch onto the court. Aleesha's trainers madeno noise, but Martha's heels clacked. Stupid, stupid!

   She stopped, pulled them off, and ran with Aleesha, in

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her socks, towards the neighbouring block.

   They weren't going to make it all the way. The uppercourt, with its raised flowerbeds and skateboard ramps,was too wide to cross in one go with the men behind her.Martha dragged Aleesha into cover behind some wheeliebins. They hid.

   Hiding, Martha thought, is what I've spent most of thelast two weeks doing.

   The howling dog was nearby. It had become frantic,perhaps picking up their scent. Martha and Aleeshacowered behind the foul-smelling bins.

   The men appeared, fanning up onto the court, weaponsraised. They exchanged gestures, nods, and shakes ofheads. They spread out.

   Martha knew they were going to find her and kill her.Worse still, they were going to kill a little girl who wasonly in this fix because she'd seen Martha's earrings. Agrown woman and a little girl: just a meaningless footnoteto the awful catalogue of deaths recorded in the lastfortnight. Just two more names on a list no one would evercare to read.

   Martha took a deep breath. She was totally, strangelyfocused. She wasn't going to allow this tiny crime tohappen. The Doctor had trusted her. He had trusted her.

   `Stay here,' she whispered to Aleesha.

   `Where are you going?' Aleesha whispered back ingreat alarm. She wasn't about to allow the only adult whohad noticed her in two weeks to go away.

   `I'll be right back,' Martha whispered, `but I need youto stay here, and hide. Can you do that?'

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   Aleesha nodded, and then said, `Don't go.'

   `Could you look after my shoes, Aleesha?' Marthawhispered. `Could you? And my earrings?'

   Aleesha nodded again. Martha handed her shoes andearrings to the little girl. Aleesha closed her fist tightaround the glittery studs.

   `Stay here,' Martha whispered firmly.

   She got up. The UCF agents had spread out wideracross the court area. Martha could smell their sweat andthe oil of their guns. Checking her key, she stepped outfrom behind the bins.

   `Someone's here, chief,' said Bremner.

   `I know it,' replied Griffin, circling on the spot, hisweapon raised. `Stay alert.'

   Padding forwards, Martha crossed between two of thewary men. They didn't seem to see her.

   She slipped behind another of the men, the one theother gunman had referred to as `chief'. He was thebiggest of them, with a memorable scar across his face. Ifshe could get past him, and reach the other side of thecourt, Martha intended to make some kind of noise, causea distraction, anything to lead the men away from the littlegirl.

   She took another step.

   `You smell that?' asked Jenks.

   `What?' asked Rafferty.

   `Perfume. That's perfume. A real sexy girl number,'Jenks said.

   Griffin shook his head.

   `I smell it, chief,' said Bremner.

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   Griffin narrowed his eyes. `She's right here.'

   Martha froze. She was out in the open. They weregoing to see her.

   The man with the scar began to turn around.

   There was a sound of breaking glass from theneighbouring block.

   `Go!' Griffin yelled, and the men ran.

   Left behind, Martha sucked in a huge breath and ranback to Aleesha.

   The little girl was still clutching Martha's shoes.

   `Come on!' Martha said, gripping her hand.

Griffin's team scrambled up the stairwell of the towerblock.

   `Second floor!' Griffin yelled.

   They started to smash open doors, aiming weapons.There was movement behind the fourth door they kickeddown. Jenks and Handley opened up. The automatic firesplintered the door frame and shredded furniture inside theflat.

   `Cease! Cease fire!' Griffin yelled.

   `It's just a dog!' Rafferty blurted. Just a dog, famished,trapped in the flat. The dog had somehow managed tooverturn a DVD stand, which had broken the balconywindow.

   The gunfire had missed it. It was cowering, whining,behind the shot-up sofa, covered in flecks of upholsterypadding and chips of glass.

   `Damn, I was so sure we had her,' Griffin murmured.He knelt down beside the dog and stroked its head. `Easy

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now, easy now, boy. That's it. Yeah, that's it.'

  Petting the whimpering animal, Griffin unholstered hisGlock.

                          * * *

Martha and Aleesha heard the pistol shot ring out over thecourt. They fled back the way they had come, across thestreet where the big Humvee was parked, and then down abreeze-way behind another residential block. They keptgoing until, five streets away, they couldn't run any more.

    Panting, Martha picked a basement flat with an openfront door. They darted down the steps from the street.Martha bolted the door and put the chain on. She smiled atAleesha and winked. It took some effort to smile for thelittle girl's benefit.

    `We'll be safe here for now,' she said.

    Aleesha nodded, but she was clearly scared. Marthabegan to search around the flat for food or anything elsethey could use.

    `I know you're frightened,' she said, `but it's going tobe all right. We will get through this.'

    `Will we?' asked Aleesha. In two lonely, scary weeks,Aleesha had seen no evidence that anything was going tobe all right.

    Martha realised that the little girl was really shaken.She sat down beside her on the settee and took her hand.

    `I tell you what, Aleesha,' Martha said gently, `Wouldyou like to hear a story?'

    `Yes, please,' said Aleesha.

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                     The Weeping

The storm screamed in across the frozen sea, its howlingthroat full of snow. As night began to yield to a sickly greydawn it settled over the desolate city. And, yet, through thebrutal roar of the storm another sound could be heard,distant, desolate and chilling. A broken-hearted howlwhich reverberated between the forsaken ice-coatedbuildings and which finally reached the ears of the twofleeing figures.

   It signalled only one thing to them.

   They were coming.

   If her heart didn't burst inside her chest in the next twominutes, Martha would be downright astonished. Sweatglued her T-shirt to her back, and advanced in aglistening sheen across her brow. Her muscles screamedfor energy but there was little left to give.

   She continued to stagger on through the frozencityscape, supporting the almost deadweight of the oldman hanging off her shoulder. She stopped for a moment,heaving him upwards to get a better grip.

   `Come on,' she screamed. `You've got to keep moving!'

   The old man looked weakly up at her, his bluish lipsparting in what Martha assumed was meant to be a smile.`I'm sorry,' he croaked, `I'm so sorry.'

   Glancing backwards, through the swirling veils of

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snow she caught a glimpse of a hunched, misshapen formwhich darted into a doorway, lost from sight almostimmediately. A surge of panic rose in Martha, her mouthdry and acidic. They had to reach the TARDIS, andquickly.

    `Stay conscious... you're going into shock... you haveto stay awake!' she yelled at the old man. But she waslosing him. His body sagged in her arms, his weightdragging her to her knees in the powdery snow. She laythere, her arm protectively thrown over the old man'sfrail, tissue-thin body. Her mind raced. She had to get up,had to keep going, had to reach the sanctuary of theTARDIS. She had the will, the spirit for fighting. But therewas little more she could do as the last vestiges of herenergy ebbed into the all-embracing snow. She triedwiggling her fingers. Nothing. Was it frostbite? She'd readabout it in textbooks when she was still an everydaymedical student. Before her life changed for ever. Back atthe Royal Hope Hospital... Royal Hope. That's all she hadleft hope...

    She desperately tried to focus her mind...Hypothermia, come on, what are the three stages ofhypothermia? Stage one, she thought... maybe she shouldhave paid more attention in lectures. What she neededwas a doctor. There was irony. Never around when youneeded him.

    `Doctor,' her voice crackled and broke, as shestruggled to stay conscious. `You said you wouldn't leaveme.'

    Then, through blurred and stinging eyes, she saw a tall

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figure stalking towards her, almost lost in the blizzard.That enormous brown coat billowing, flapping behind himin the wind, his face etched with concern. His eyes seemedto pierce through the snow storm, finding Martha,connecting.

   She felt a swell of warmth rush through her body asadrenalin dumped into her failing system, and shestumbled to her feet, trembling hands outstretched in frontof her.

   The Doctor stumbled urgently over to her, reliefwashing across his face. His hands grasped her arms,supporting her, and he grinned.

   `Aw, Martha Jones. Where did you get yourself to? Eh?I've been looking for you!'

   Martha smiled weakly, wishing she had the energy tothink of some pithy and amusing comeback. But thencame the exploding red and blossoming black, andsomewhere far off the sound of someone falling to theground.

   Then silence.

Four hours earlier by Martha's watch, before the stormswept across the surface of Agelaos, a blue box spunthrough the iridescent shimmer of the Vortex, buffeted onall sides by the time winds.

    Inside the blue box, the impossibly vast organicchamber was suffused with a greenish light that emanatedfrom pulsing circuits rammed higgledy-piggledy under ametal grilled floor. And either side of the jumbled centralcontrol console were two figures Martha Jones and the

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Doctor.

   `So, it's a warning, then?' Martha ventured.

   With a flourish of his right hand, the Doctor tipped aswitch upwards, snorted, and peered anxiously at thescanner mounted on the console... Glasses now on, herapped the screen with his knuckles.

   `Sounds like a warning to me,' she said.

   `Nah!' the Doctor retorted. `Nothing like a warning!'

   An incoherent babble of distorted voices crackled froman ancient speaker grille near the scanner.

   The Doctor tugged an ink pen from his inside suitpocket, and began scribbling furiously on a note pad.`Well, it's not a mayday, and it's not junk mail. Come on,come on, what are you?'

   The symbols he scribbled were strange, spidery, andarchaic, like alien shorthand.

   `Ah!' he exclaimed, straightening up and beaming hisbest toothy grin, `Got you!' He hopped backwards ontoone of the two pilot's seats at the edge of the console,swinging his long legs back and forth underneath him.

   `That's brilliance, that is, Martha Jones. An unknownalien language deciphered in less than, what, ten seconds.'He waved the pad under Martha's nose. `Oh yes!'

   He grinned, and then realised that Martha was staringat him, unimpressed.

   `What?' And then his voice notched up a touch:`What?'

   Martha looked at him. `It's a warning, isn't it?'

   `Yes,' he said, a touch shamefaced.

   Martha laughed, and poked him in the ribs, `What did I

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tell you? Not just a pretty face, eh?'

    The Doctor leaped from the seat, buzzing with pent-upenergy. `I never pay attention to warnings, Martha. Payingattention's for cats! I'm more your golden retriever type,just blunder straight in there all happy and excited! Nevergot me in to trouble yet... not once in 903 years... well,not quite "not once"... well sort of all the time really,but you get my point!'

    And with that, those long legs powered him round theconsole, and he was sliding levers, flicking switches.

    `Don't you just love this bit?' he enthused. `Goosepimples, look!' He rolled up the sleeve of his jacketproudly. `The tingle that goes with the thrill of discovery.We could be anywhere and any when. Isn't that brilliant?'

    `Warnings are meant for a reason,' she said levelly.

    `That's what I like about you, Martha Jones!'

    With a very gentle sideward lurch the TARDIS stoppedmoving.

    The Doctor vaulted the safety rail onto the lowersection of the console room floor, and snatched up hisfallen brown overcoat. As he tugged the sleeves over hisarms, he dashed to the doors.

    `Coming?' he said, his hand on the door latch.

    `Try and stop me,' and Martha ran down the ramp tojoin him.

`Are you sure this isn't the Antarctic?' Martha nudged theDoctor gently in the side.

   The two of them were standing outside the TARDISstaring at an expanse of ice and snow, as far as the eye

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could see, rippled and folded into incredible gravity-defying swirls that spread towards the distant curvedhorizon.

   `Not the Antarctic, Martha,' the Doctor stuffed hishands deep into his trouser pockets, and craned his head topeer round the side of the TARDIS.

   `Ah!' he said, nodding with dawning realisation. `Trythat way.'

   `What?' Martha said, hugging herself against the bitingwind.

   `Agelaos,' he declared.

   Martha carefully poked her head around the edge of theTARDIS. Ahead, in the middle of the ice floe, was a city.Huge bony spires rose thousands of feet into the crispindigo sky, domes and skyscrapers, bridges and sheerwalls of glass, all covered with a dense layer of snow. Itlooked forgotten, empty, as though it had been swept intoa corner and gathered dust.

   But most astonishing of all was the sky. Martha wasutterly blown away by the beauty of this frozen planet.Above her, shimmering and arcing majestically wereaurora borealis; and beyond them shooting stars, flaring,bursting, dissipating; and distant ion cascades, a palette ofunimaginably delicate colours suspended in the clearcerulean sky.

   And on the distant horizon, hanging just a fractionabove the city skyline, burning like a magnesium-whiteflare was... a sun? No, it was too low, thought Martha, tooclose to the planet... And, as she peered closer, the whiteempty space was pulsing, as though breathing. Could

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black holes be white, she mused? Surely it would destroyeverything nearby. So, not a black hole then, but what?

   `A wormhole.' The Doctor seemed to guess what shewas thinking. `It's beautiful, isn't it? Your descendantscame here to try to harness the energy of that wormhole. Agateway into the Vortex. That's how we got here.'

   `But that's mad. Surely it would have, you know...'She struggled to articulate her thoughts.

   `Destroyed them? Nah!' The Doctor locked theTARDIS door. `Fancy a walk?'

   `Aggy-what?' she queried, trotting to keep pace withthe Doctor's enormous strides.

   `Agi-lay-os,' the Doctor pronounced. `One of thefurthest outposts of the Second Great and BountifulHuman Empire. The planet was colonised by a group of2,000 pioneers from Earth. They terraformed it, or startedto.' He scratched his head, ruffling his brown, spiky hair.

   `Something happened here?' Martha posed.

   `Mm.' He frowned, but forged on regardless.

   `What did the warning say?' she persisted. `Doctor?'

   He stopped, swivelled to face her.

   `Give or take the odd vowel: "Stay away".'

   `From what?'

   He started walking again. `That's the million creditquestion.'

To Martha it looked like the city had been deserted foryears.

   At her side the Doctor was chattering on. `For manycenturies they lived on the lip of the wormhole using its

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energy to power their society. The side effect, though now, get this, Martha, it's brilliant the side effect ofliving so close was that the population began to develop acertain degree of psychic ability.'

    Martha raised an eyebrow. `What? Tea leaves andpalm-reading type of psychic?'

    `They developed the ability to see strands of futuretime... that's all being psychic is.' He suddenly stoppeddead in his tracks, and Martha virtually cannoned intohim.

    `What?'

    `Shush!' he held his hand up for silence.

    `What?' Martha hissed.

    The Doctor bought his lips very close to Martha's ear,and whispered, `When I say run... run.'

    Martha felt her skin crawl, and her head suddenlyflicked around, her eyes searching the darkened buildingslooming over her. She could see nothing, absolutelynothing.

    `Run!' yelled the Doctor, grabbing her hand tightly, andyanking her suddenly to the left. Her feet skidding on thesnow, she stumbled after him into the shattered shell of anearby building.

    And that's when she heard the weeping...

    It was mournful, plaintive at first, but then grew intosomething more sinister an animalistic roar thatreverberated in Martha's gut. Not the roar of any familiaranimal on Earth, nor even any alien she'd ever heard, butsomething so totally wracked with agony that it chilledher blood. And it was angry.

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   Worse, it was very close.

   The Doctor dragged her through the devastatedbuilding, jumping fallen snow-covered girders, pushingaside bundles of cables.

   Behind them, they could now hear the panting andsnarling of something fast and savage. More scufflingfootsteps joined it. They were being hunted by a pack.

   As they ascended a fractured set of steps, a creaturelurched from the shadows above, only metres ahead ofthem. Skidding to a halt, the Doctor and Martha turned,ready to hurtle back down the concrete stairs, but foundthemselves staring, intrigued, at a jumble of creaturesbelow an illogical mismatch of different species.Insectoid heads, with reptilian arms, or arachnid eyes, orhumanoid legs, or gills... the variations were endless.Their lips rode up over cruelly sharp, needle-like teeth,and saliva cascaded in silver torrents across their chins,signalling the intention to kill. And then, hot breathsteaming from their open mouths, the creatures all beganto wail, a hissing, mournful weeping.

   The Doctor clutched Martha's hand tightly, pulling herbehind him.

   `Cover your eyes! Now!'

   From nowhere, what seemed to Martha like a verypowerful camera flash went off, searing her eyeballs,leaving her blinking to rid herself of the red flare ghostingin front of her eyes. She clutched her face, burying it inthe Doctor's side.

   But it was the screaming that truly shocked Martha.The creatures screeched in appalling agony, clutching

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their heads, reeling drunkenly against the icy walls.

   Another brilliant flash.

   This time, Martha's vision had cleared enough for herto see the man who stood in the entrance of the shatteredbuilding, wrapped in heavy snow gear and wearing thicktinted goggles. In his hand was a snub-nosed black tubethat he aimed at the nearest creature. He fired. A flash ofbluish light spat from the smoking muzzle. The creature'sbody twitched rigid, its skin flaring, bubbling like aphotograph burning in a flame, then crashed to theground, utterly senseless.

   `Don't just stand there,' the man's voice barked.`They'll be up in about thirty seconds!'

   The Doctor grasped Martha's hand and they raced afterhim out into the snow. As the wind began to strengthen, itwhipped the snow into a whirling frenzy.

   `There's a storm coming. We should get inside. Myplace is that way.' The stranger gestured with a glovedhand.

   Martha could just make out a tower in the distance,only thirty metres or so tall, but rising imposingly fromthe desolation at the centre of the city.

   As they drew nearer, Martha spotted a light at the topof the tower, pulsing slowly and regularly, like it waskeeping time with a heartbeat. It's a lighthouse, shethought, it's a stupid lighthouse!

   Moments later, they rushed into the base of the tower.The stranger wheeled round and slammed a heavy metaldoor behind them. Inside it was cool and dark as a cave,but the relief from the wind was welcome. A shaft of light

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skewered the centre of the room from a tightly curvedstairwell, and for a moment that was all that Martha couldsee. And, then, her eyes began to adjust.

   Brushing the snow off his clothes, the man pulled backhis hood and tore off his goggles. He was the oldest manMartha had ever seen. His face was gaunt with tissue-thinskin hanging delicately from his cheekbones and thethinnest, whitest hair covering his head. But it was hiseyes that shocked Martha: youthful eyes, burning full ofpassion, deep and beautiful.

   The Doctor took the man's spindly hand in both of his,and shook it warmly. `I don't know who you are but we Martha and me, that's Martha just there we are sograteful! Thank you. I'm the Doctor, by the way.'

   `Hi!' Martha gave a little wave.

   The old man just stared at them, gaping, smiling.

   Martha shuffled uncomfortably.

   The man finally spoke. `People? You're actually real?'

   `Real as they come, that's me!' the Doctor laughed.

   `It's a pleasure. Truly a pleasure. My name is Waechter.Please forgive my manners out there. Those things don'ttake much notice of decorum. But you'll be safe here.'

   The old man turned and began to lead the way up a setof concrete steps.

   Martha chased after him. `We're really grateful, and allthat. But, how did you find us?'

   `I knew you were coming,' Waechter said, tapping theside of his head. `I knew where to find you. I'd almost losthope. I didn't think anybody was coming. Ever again.'

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Waechter led the Doctor and Martha up four flights ofgloomy stairs to a small, dark room. The room wasprimitive in the extreme, lit by faintly glowing hexagonalcells strung in a zigzag across the ceiling. A narrow bedoccupied one corner of the room. The walls were slick andblack with mildew, and the stench was sickening.

   Waechter gestured for Martha and the Doctor to sit onthe bed.

   `What are those creatures?' the Doctor asked after amoment, his eyes darting round the room, taking in everylast detail.

   `They came through the wormhole,' Waechter said. `Atleast, that was the commonly held belief. At thebeginning. There's no one left to hold any kind of beliefnow. Except me. One by one my people vanished. Gone.All of them. Those things took them.'

   `I'm sorry,' Martha whispered.

   Waechter dragged a wooden chair over to the edge ofthe bed and sat down, his joints creaking. `You're lucky Iknew you were out there,' he continued, `or they'd havehad you too!' He waved the snub-nosed black tube. `Theysteer clear of me, by and large.'

   `So, what, you're the... last human... on Agelaos?'Martha said.

   `Mm,' Waechter nodded. `I'm the guardian.' He pointeda thin finger skywards. `I keep the Beacon going.'

   The Doctor catapulted off the bed. `The warning wasyou?'

   Waechter tipped his head, slightly, a thin smile etchedacross his face.

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   `But why?'

   `It's my job. Maintenance. Chosen by our government.Before they vanished... This beacon was set up to warnpeople against coming here.'

   The Doctor stopped suddenly. `This beacon's ancient.Surely you haven't been here all that time?'

   Waechter looked up at the Doctor, and then pulleddown the collar of his sweater to expose his neck.Looking like it had almost grown out of his skin was asmall electronic circuit. Tiny wires spread out from thecircuit just under the surface of his flesh. A minute greenlight pulsed softly in the centre of the chip. Waechtertapped the circuit and laughed.

   `This stops me from dying. Holds my metabolism incheck. I don't get older. I don't get ill. And I don't get toleave. I'm connected to the Beacon. I can't leave. And onbad days, this thing really messes around with my psychicability. Like I said, this is my job. For the rest of time.'

   The Doctor put his glasses on and leaned in close toexamine Waechter's neck, squinting ever so slightly.

   `Aw, it's a beautiful piece of work,' he said. `Beautiful,but wrong.'

   His hand delved into his coat pocket, and he pulled outhis psychic paper, flipping it open like an id card.Waechter just stared at the paper, and then turned to theDoctor.

   `And?'

   `Tell me what you see.'

   Waechter leaned in slightly, squinting at the paper. Hereached out a spindly hand, taking it from the Doctor. And

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then Martha jumped as the old man's body tensed, as if hewas having a seizure. He cried out, a hollow and hauntingmoan.

   Suddenly he hurled the psychic paper away, and it slidacross the dusty floor.

   Martha grabbed the Doctor's arm. `What happened?'

   `It's only a guess,' the Doctor said, `but I think thepaper bounced back his own psychic ability. Isn't thatbrilliant? What did you see?'

   Waechter looked at him, his eyes cold. `My future.'

   `We can help, if you want us to?'

   Waechter peered into the Doctor's eyes. `Yes. Youcould, couldn't you?'

   For a moment, the Doctor felt a pang of vulnerability Waechter had, just for a second, seen into the Time Lord'sfuture, seen everything.

   `You know what it's like to live for ever, don't you?'Waechter whispered. `The passing of eternity with no endin sight. The comings and the goings. And the losses. Buton your own it all fades somehow. You hide it away. Once,it was a struggle to forget; now it's a struggle toremember.'

   There was a moment of silence.

   `You had a family once, Doctor.'

   The Doctor struggled with the memory, swallowinghard.

   `And now they're lost,' Waechter's eyes misted over.`Lost to the inferno. In a lake of fire--'

   `That's enough,' the Doctor said.

   `Can you take me away from here?' Waechter studied

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the Doctor's face. `In your... ship. Take me home, toEarth. Get rid of this damn stupid thing in my neck? Andjust leave me by the sea. It's been frozen here now foralmost five centuries. I want to remember what it felt like the warmth lapping against my skin. Please? Let medie.'

   `Where are you going?' Martha asked, as the Doctorleapt to his feet.

   `To help him. I'm going to look at this Beacon. Givehim his life back.' And then he was gone, bounding up thestairs and out of sight.

   Martha gently manoeuvred Waechter over to the bed,and sat him down.

   `You're lonely too, aren't you?' Waechter suddenlysaid. `I don't have to look inside your mind to know whatyou want. It's plain for the entire world to see. He's not"the one", for what it's worth.'

   Martha smiled gently, but her eyes betrayed the doubtshe felt deep inside, `So you really seriously think youhave, what a gift?'

   Waechter laughed, a hoarse, rasping chuckle. `Oh, I'vegot a gift, all right. The only problem is, I didn't want it. Itwasn't asked for.'

   There was a silence between them. And then he spoke,matter-of-fact, out of nowhere.

   `Do you want to know how you're going to die?'

   `Y... yes, I do.'

   `No, you don't.' His eyes penetrated deep into Martha'ssoul.

   `No one can see the future,' she said, a surge of panic

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rising in her. `That's just not possible. No way. Thefuture's not happened yet, none of it is written. It just...happens. You're making it up.'

    Waechter nodded sagely, looking away from Martha,and down at his hands. He rubbed his thumb across hispalm, as if scratching at an annoying itch. `How could Isee the future if it didn't already exist?'

    Martha crossed to a tiny window, pondering, andrubbed away the condensation. She pressed her noseagainst the glass, craning to look down at the blastedcityscape below. Dark, twisted figures were just standingthere, sheltered in doorways, staring up at the tower. Andthey seemed to be weeping.

    `What are they doing?' she asked.

    Waechter looked round at her, `Maybe they're lonelytoo?'

The Doctor bowled back into the room, clapping his handstogether. `Right, then! Allons-y! All done.'

   `What's done?' Martha asked.

   `A bit of jiggery pokery. Well, more jiggery thanpokery. Aaaaanyway! Mr Waechter, how do you fancygoing home?'

   Waechter's face brightened, his eyes welling with tears.

   `I've disconnected the servo relay from the Beacon.You're free.'

   Waechter bit his lip, trembling. Martha gently squeezedhis shoulder.

   `Oh my,' he said, at a loss for all other expression.

   Martha picked up the weapon off the bed, and handed it

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to the Doctor. `There's a crowd of those things outside.You go first. Distract them with this. I'll bring Waechteronce the coast is clear. Meet you at the TARDIS.'

   He took the tube from her, perplexed. `Will it hurtthem?'

   Waechter smiled. `Not as much as I'd like it to. Viciousbrutes. It'll sting, though. Nasty headache. No more.'

   `Marvellous!' The Doctor headed for the door, stopped,and spun round on his heels, his sneakers squeaking onthe floor.

   `Coming?'

   Seconds later, he bounded out into the storm. As hedisappeared into the swirling gloom pursued by theshuffling creatures, Martha, with a gradually weakeningWaechter at her side, stepped out into the snow.

Martha was somewhere in the dark. There was a break inher memory. She remembered the Doctor stalking towardsher through the storm, talking to her, and then nothing. Onthe other side of the break, she was looking up at theDoctor as he lifted her from her fallen position in thesnow. And for now she was content to drift in and out ofconsciousness, knowing that she was completely safe.Even when she seemed to recall the creatures attacking,and blinding flashes of light bursting from the Doctor'shand, she didn't feel threatened.

   But gradually everything became clear and sharp. TheDoctor had managed to drag her and Waechter steadilytowards the TARDIS. Finally the rectangular blue shapeemerged from the slashing snow. With a last desperate

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push, stumbling to her feet, Martha reached out, gratefullycaressing the wooden sides of the police box. The Doctortook one final look behind him at the desolate ice floe. Aseries of dark, shuffling shapes emerged from the storm inthe distance, their bodies crusted with ice. He tossedWaechter's weapon over his shoulder and stepped into theship.

   Inside at last, Martha helped Waechter up the ramp tothe central console, guiding him to the two pilot's seats.

   The old man's head swung wildly around, taking inevery detail of the cavernous expanse the coral-likecolumns that seemed to grow out of the floor, and push uphigh into the domed ceiling; the rusted railings wrapped inpadding, secured with duct tape. `This is... is...unbelievable,' he stuttered.

   `You'll get used to it,' Martha said, as she sat himdown.

   The Doctor stalked up to the console, throwing off hisovercoat.

   `Last chance to say no,' he said.

   Waechter took a deep breath, and grasped Martha'shand.

   `What are you saying damn fool things like that for?'he said. `You sound like you want me to change mymind.'

   The Doctor laughed, and flipped a switch upwards withan expansive gesture.

   Within seconds, the grinding and wheezing sound ofthe TARDIS engines filled the console room, andWaechter stared in wonder at the rising and falling of the

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central column.

    `This machine is incredible--' he began, and thenbroke off as he clutched at the circuit in his neck and letout a wail of terrible pain. He crumpled to the floor,crackles of green electricity dancing and sparking aroundhis neck and face.

    `He can't die here,' Martha shouted. `It shouldn'thappen here and now, like this!'

    `We've got to go back,' the Doctor raced to the console,slamming levers down frantically.

    The TARDIS juddered and shook, and within secondsthe central column stopped moving as the craft landedonce more.

    `I thought you'd disconnected him?' asked Martha.

    The Doctor raced over to Waechter, plucking out thesonic screwdriver. He waved it across the chip in the oldman's neck, and then examined the readings.

    `Oh, I'm so stupid!' He smacked his forehead with theflat of his hand. `It's a two-way mechanism. If the Beaconfails to hold him here, then the chip kicks in as a back-up.That's so elementary. Why didn't I think of that?'

    Martha drew the Doctor to one side. `Can't you justturn it off?'

    The Doctor frowned, his face a mask of concentration.`It's not that simple. That thing is hard-wired into hisbiology. I might kill him. No, I've got to be clever aboutthis.'

    Spinning on his heels, the Doctor tore over to theconsole, and his hands began flashing across the dials andlevers, occasionally scanning something with his sonic

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screwdriver.

   Martha sat down next to Waechter, holding one of hisfragile, bony hands in hers. `Trust him,' she said.

   Waechter looked at her. `I'm stuck here, aren't I?'

   Martha shook her head. `He'll find a way.'

   The Doctor suddenly leapt away from the console andran to Waechter's side, waving the sonic screwdriver.

   `You're in the company of a genius, did you knowthat?' He beamed. `I can jam your circuit's link to theBeacon, and once it's jammed I can deactivate it.'

   Waechter looked at Martha, seemingly for reassurance,and then back at the Doctor. `And then you can take mehome?'

   `Oh, yes!' The Doctor leaned in close to Waechter'sneck. `This might sting a touch,' he warned.

   Martha knew immediately that `sting a touch' meant itwould hurt like crazy, so she gripped the old man's handtightly.

   The buzzing blue tip of the sonic screwdriver hoveredover the centre of the chip, and the surface electronicsbegan to shimmer and vibrate. Waechter screwed his eyesup as he began to feel waves of heat pulsate out from hisneck. Suddenly a shower of sparks erupted from his neck,but the Doctor kept on working, his tongue pokingbetween his lips.

   As Martha held Waechter's hand she began to feel itswelling in her grip, and she looked down. As sheunfurled her fingers she realised in horror that she washolding not an old man's hand, but something thatresembled a claw bristling with tough, spiny hairs. She

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dropped it and backed away.

   `Doctor,' she whispered.

   The Doctor looked over, following the direction of hergaze. `Oh,' he said. `Now that's not fair!'

   Waechter, his face still contorted with pain, looked athis hand. `What's happening to me?'

   His face grim, the Doctor's shoulders sagged withrealisation. `Of course! It's a new brain I need, Martha.This one's getting tired! I know what's happening!'

   Martha looked up at him, confused.

   `Don't you see?' He was bursting with energy. `Oh,lazy, lazy brain, Doctor! I know what this is all about.'

   Martha, frustrated, snapped, `What?'

   `It's the curse of this planet.' The Doctor straightenedup. `You were wrong, Waechter. The inhabitants haven'tgone anywhere, they've not been murdered. They're stillhere. They've evolved into these alien creatures.'

   Martha looked on in horror as Waechter's arm began totwist and elongate, transforming into something horriblysimilar to a spider's leg.

   The Doctor, fascinated, popped his glasses on. `It's gotto be the influence of the wormhole. Not only has it giventhe inhabitants incredible psychic powers, it's alsoirradiated their bodies with who knows how manythousands of types of alien DNA that have passed throughthe Vortex.'

   Waechter cried out in agony, his right arm cracking andsplintering as it doubled in length. `Please, help me!'

   `It's the chip,' the Doctor said. `His humanity wasbeing held in check by the chip. That was what was

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stopping him from turning into one of those things.There's got to be something I can do!' He turned on thesonic screwdriver again, and the circuit rippled and spatsparks. `I can do this!'

   Waechter screamed once more, his face contorting inagony. His jaw suddenly began to mutate, distorting intotwo separate mandibles.

   `I am not one of those things!' Waechter spat.

   `You're making it worse!' Martha shouted.

   The Doctor turned off the screwdriver. `No! No! No!!Why can't I do this?'

   The old man's tongue poked between his lips, nowblackened and swollen. It flickered in and out, like a snakescenting the air.

   The Doctor took a deep breath, and ran the palms of hishands over his strained face.

   `Doctor?' Martha said urgently.

   `OK!' he snapped, and knelt down in front of Waechter.`Listen to me. If I destroy that chip, you will turn into oneof these creatures. But if I repair it to keep you human,then I can't take you away from here. I'm sorry. One wayor the other, you're going to have to stay. There's nothingelse I can do. I really am so sorry. You have to tell mewhat you want me to do. Waechter?'

   The old man brandished his claw-like protuberance,staring in utter horror at it.

   `Is this all that my life has been about?' he cried. `Justwaiting for this?'

   The Doctor continued urgently: `Please! What do youwant me to do?'

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   And as Waechter struggled to make his decision, andthe Doctor and Martha waited with bated breath, thesound of weeping could be heard... from outside on thesnow-blasted wastes. The creatures his people werewaiting, too.

   Waechter reached out a twisted claw and rested itgently on the Doctor's shoulder. `Your identificationpaper...'

   `The psychic paper?'

   `Yes. May I see it again? Please?'

   The Doctor reached into his jacket, and pulled out thewallet. He slowly opened it, showing it to Waechter. Theold man stared deep into its intuitive heart and his reactionthis time was sedate, almost serene.

   `Thank you,' he said softly.

   The Doctor closed the wallet and tucked it away. `Whatdid you see?'

   Waechter leant back in the chair, and closed his eyes.`An end. And a beginning. Running free. Never lonelyagain.' He opened his eyes, and smiled. `I owe you mythanks.'

   The Doctor waved his hand in front of his face.`Nonsense.'

   `It's our custom here, Doctor. I owe you a gift. And theonly gift I have of value is my knowledge of the future.'

   The Doctor stood up, frowning, and backed awayslightly. `I'm not sure it's wise to know what's coming.More fun that way.'

   Ignoring him, Waechter turned to Martha. `Look toyour family. Protect them. They will need you to be

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strong, so very strong, Martha Jones.'

   Martha's face clouded with confusion. `What do youmean?'

   Waechter looked up at the Doctor. `And for you, TimeLord, there are endings coming. There will be loss anddeath--'

   `Please,' the Doctor broke in. `Don't.'

   Waechter looked down at his hooked, clawed hands.His breathing shallow and rasping. When he looked upagain, his eyes were shot green, pulsing with inner light.`Please destroy this thing in my neck,' he said, his voicebarely a whisper. `Let me go. I want to be with mypeople.'

   The Doctor leant forward, activating the sonicscrewdriver, disabling the circuit. An incandescent showerof sparks erupted from the old man's neck, and his backsuddenly arched, his face contorted in a rictus of pain.

   New bolts of agonising pain wracked his body.

   He gasped for air.

   He fell to his knees and then forward on his hands. Ashis bone and muscle bent and reformed themselves, hisface began to distort, bulging, puckering and swelling intosome new creature.

   Martha turned away, and the Doctor watched her crossto the console.

   `Martha?' he asked.

   `I don't want to see,' she told him.

   Behind her, the Doctor gently helped the creature to itsfeet. It swung its head round to look at the Doctor, itsbulbous, arachnid eyes peering quizzically at him. And

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then, the creature bowed its head, respectfully.

   `I'll help you outside,' the Doctor murmured. Hepushed the doors open, and freezing air billowed into theconsole room.

   Martha stood utterly still at the console, listening to theclick-clack of Waechter's new feet on the metal TARDISfloor, her face streaked with tears.

Martha could hear that Waechter had paused by the door,but still she couldn't bring herself to turn around. Was hewaiting for some sign, some gesture from her? Feelingguilty and selfish, she sighed, and turned slowly to facehim, dreading what she might see.

   But he had already gone, stepped out into the snow.

   The Doctor solemnly closed the door, and saunteredback up towards Martha. He put his arm around hershoulders, and pulled her close for a moment.

   `I love a happy ending,' he said.

   Martha looked up at him. `What now?' she said.

   `Oh, you know. A bit more jiggery pokery,' he beamed.`You know, Martha Jones, I think that Beacon should starttransmitting a very different message.'

   `Like what?'

   `Something more appropriate. What do you say, eh?How about... a protected planet of special scientificinterest,' he ventured.

   As the Doctor began to set the coordinates on theconsole for the Beacon, and the central column began torise and fall, Martha asked, `He will be all right, won'the?'

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   The Doctor stared at the console's pulsing lights, andfor a moment he looked surprisingly optimistic.

   `Maybe, maybe not,' he said. `But, there's one thing hewill be, Martha.'

   `Oh yeah? What's that?' she asked.

   The Doctor twisted a button on the console. `Brilliant!'

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    Martha's story seemed to raise the little girl's spirits.

    Just telling it had done Martha the power of good. It had

    forcibly reminded her of the things that really mattered.

    Here was a little girl, nine years old, who'd survived for

    two weeks on the simple hope that someone was going to

    make everything better. It made Martha ashamed for

    feeling put upon and sorry for herself.

       Martha took a shower in the flat's dank cubicle. The

    water was cold, and intermittent, but she hardly cared. She

    washed the traces of perfume off her and vowed not to

    wear any again, and no jewellery, either.

       It was nearly dawn. Aleesha was asleep. They had

    eaten a meal beans and sausages out of a tin, cooked on

    a camp stove Martha carried in her rucksack. Martha tied

    her hair back. She found a pair of trainers in the bedroom

    that were a reasonable fit.

       When Aleesha woke up, Martha would take her to

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somewhere safer. She'd find a survivor collective or arefugee group, and make sure they took care of the littlegirl. Martha felt a renewed determination. She'd wastedtoo much time hiding and skulking around, questioningher own abilities. She had a job to do, an enormous job,and she just had to get on with it. No more hiding, nomore living in the shadows. She had to be positive andconfident. She had to move with a purpose and make herown luck.

   That's what he'd do, after all.

Daybreak. Griffin stood beside the Humvee, sipping hotcoffee from a tin mug. Rafferty and the other teammembers had groused about the fruitless night's search,but Griffin wasn't convinced it had been fruitless.

   He was sure they'd been very close. Though she wasclever and disguised, the elusive Martha Jones had beenalmost in their grasp. It was a gut feeling, and Griffinknew to trust his gut feelings. Just blind luck, or themischance of a famished dog breaking a window pane,had allowed her to slip away this time. But if he could getthis close once, he could do it again.

   Griffin tipped the dregs of the coffee out onto theground and called to his men. He wasn't going to give upand let her get away. The ADC had been smart to pick himfor the job. Griffin was like a cruise missile. Once you sethim going, he didn't stop until he found the target.

   `Come on!' he shouted. `Let's go!'

Martha said goodbye to Aleesha two days later at a

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survivor outpost in Battersea. Martha spent a few hourswith the group, talking to them, listening to their storiesand telling some of her own. She made them listen, shemade them understand, and she made them promise tocarry the word on to any other groups they ran across.

   `Why are you doing this?' one of the survivors askedher.

   `Because someone has to,' Martha replied. `Just tellthem. Just tell them what Martha Jones told you.'

   `He'll come looking for you,' said one of the others.`You go around telling people this stuff, telling peopleyour name, the Master will come looking for you.'

   `I know,' said Martha. `He already is. But look at it thisway. If the Master himself wants to stop me, what I'msaying must be pretty important.'

When she went to find Aleesha to say goodbye, Marthafound her earnestly telling the story Martha had told her toa group of refugee children. Not wanting to interrupt,Martha watched quietly and waited until Aleesha hadfinished.

   The process was beginning.

She gave Aleesha a hug. `These people will look afteryou,' she said.

  `Do you want your earrings back?' Aleesha asked.

  `You keep them for me. I'm coming back.'

  Aleesha nodded. `OK, but you had better havesomething in return,' Aleesha said. `Here.'

  She held something out to Martha. It was a plastic

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badge that read, `Hooray! I am Nine!'

   `I'll treasure it,' said Martha.

   She picked up her backpack.

   `Aleesha?'

   `Yes, Martha?'

   `Thank you.'

   `What for?'

   Martha smiled. `It doesn't matter. Just thank you.'

   She turned, and headed towards the gate. It was startingto rain.

   `Martha?' Aleesha called after her. `Martha, where areyou going?'

   `Everywhere,' said Martha.

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    At night, the ruins of Lille glowed like a pale ghost.

    There were deep fires in the rubble of the sundered town,

    fires that had been burning for seven weeks, since the

    descent of the Toclafane on Day Zero.

       Directed by Over Watch, UCFA Brunol led his reaction

    force through the enclaves of the labour camps, and onto a

    broken highway that ran into the industrial wasteland of

    Surcourt. They gave the radiation pits a wide berth and

    kept clear of the razor-wire barricades.

       To the north, beyond Surcourt, the spectre of Lille

    underlit the night sky.

       The trucks and APCs in his small convoy rolled to a

    halt. Over Watch, the command-and-control data network

    that fed through the Archangel satellite grid and

    coordinated UCF operations, had been routing them into

    Surcourt, where a suspected flash market was under way.

       Now the command was to stop and wait.

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   Brunol, eager to get on, requested clarification. As hewaited, he drummed his fingers impatiently on thedashboard. Tap-tap-tap-tap! Tap-tap-tap-tap!

   The network pinged.

   <Hold position and await personnel rendezvous> themessage window from Over Watch read.

   After five minutes, a small truck approached from thesouth and pulled up beside the convoy. The men who gotout were armed, but they weren't wearing UCF uniforms.They were a scrappy lot dressed in dirty fatigues andworn-out army surplus kit.

   Brunol didn't like the look of them. He checked hissidearm and got out of his APC to meet them.

   `What's this about?' he asked.

   The leader of the newcomers was a big fellow with ascarred face.

   `You had your instructions to wait?' the man askedBrunol in French, but his accent sounded British.

   `Yes. Identify yourself.'

   The man flashed an ID wallet. `UCFA Griffin. Specialoperations.'

   `Why aren't you in uniform?' Brunol asked.

   `Special operations,' Griffin repeated.

   `This is a waste of time,' said Brunol. He gestureddown the road towards Surcourt. `There's a flash marketin progress. They picked off a supply convoy yesterday,and they're dispersing the goods. We should be in there,breaking it up and making arrests, not--'

   `Have you seen this woman?' Griffin asked, holding upa photo.

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   `No. Should I have?'

   `You've heard of her, though,' said Griffin. `Her name'sMartha Jones.'

   Brunol raised his eyebrows. `Martha Jones? I've heardstories. She's some kind of figurehead, isn't she?' heasked.

   `I've been tracking her across the UK. She slipped intoFrance eight days ago, on a container ship, and wentthrough two internment camps on the coast. I havepositive sightings. She looped down through Cambrai, butI think she's turned back to cross the border intoBelgium.'

   `What am I supposed to do about it?' asked Brunol.

   `Hold your forces back until I signal you.'

   `Why?'

   `Because a flash market is exactly the sort of placeshe'd go. She's contacting survivor groups. I need thatmarket to stay open a while longer. You close it down, youclose down my lead.'

   Brunol shrugged. `Is this authorised?'

   `Yes,' said Griffin. He held up a phone. `But if youdon't believe me, there's someone you can talk to.'

They'd chosen an old warehouse to hold the market in. Itwas near the container yard in the south of Surcourt withgood access, in and out, and hard to contain or close off.

  Speed was the essence of a flash market. You put theword out, and then moved in and set up fast, distributinggoods from the backs of lorries. First come, first served.Get the goods into circulation, and then everybody fades

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into the night, as fast as they'd come, and no one knew themarket had ever been there.

   It worked in principle. Mathieu Vivier knew plenty offlash markets that had been hit by the UCF. In Saint-Omer, just the week before, twenty people had beengunned down at a flash market in a sports centre.

   The risk was worth it, though. It was the only way toget food and medicines and other vital supplies movinginto the survivor networks. Nowhere was secure enoughto store the quantities of goods taken from a convoyhijack. You had to get it broken down and into circulation.In the post-Day Zero world, survival depended on speed,mobility and minimising your exposure.

   The market was busy. There were people in from allover the countryside. By the light of oil-drum fires, theysorted through the loads tonight, mostly clothing andtinned goods in the trucks and barrows.

   Mathieu was watching the doors. He had a sports airhorn in his coat pocket. They had men posted outside, andlookouts on the rooftops and approach roads. The firstsign of a UCF raid or descending Toclafane, they wouldshut up shop and scatter.

   Mathieu moved through the crowd, greeting faces heknew, nodding to others. A lot of newcomers had turnedup, and that made him edgy.

   `Looking for something in particular?' he asked one ofthe strangers.

   `The usual,' the man replied. `Food.'

   `English, right?' asked Mathieu.

   The man laughed. `My accent that bad, eh?'

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    `Little way from home, aren't you?' Mathieu askedhim.

    `I was over here on holiday when it went down,' theman said. `Guess I'm stuck here. Come to that, I don'tthink anywhere is home any more, do you?'

    Mathieu shook his head.

    `Actually,' said the man, `I'm looking for someonetoo.'

    `Yeah?'

    The man took a scuffed photo out of his coat. `Mygirlfriend. She was on holiday with me. We got separated.I really want to find her.'

    `What's her name?' Mathieu asked, looking at thephoto.

    `Martha,' the man said. `I just want to find her. I'm soworried about her.'

    `I wish I could help you,' said Mathieu, `but I don'trecognise her. And I'd remember a face like that.'

    `Thanks, anyway.'

    `I'll ask around,' Mathieu said. `Maybe someone willknow.'

    The man moved away. Mathieu watched him for amoment, then moved on. He stopped to warm his hands atone of the oil-drum fires.

    `Funny bloke,' said a voice beside him quietly.

    Mathieu looked around, but there didn't seem to beanyone there.

    Except there was. A girl was standing beside him, justat the edge of his peripheral vision.

    `Don't look at me, look at him,' she said. `Pretty well

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fed, don't you think? Pretty well fed, for one of us.'

    Mathieu stared through the bustling crowd. He couldstill see the English stranger. He'd stopped to show thecrumpled photo to someone else. He was a big guy. Hedidn't look hungry.

    `What are you telling me?' Mathieu said.

    `I'm telling you that the UCF have all the rations theyneed. I'm telling you this market has to close now becausewe're in real danger.'

    Mathieu turned to look at her. Even facing her, hecouldn't quite see her, but he could see enough to knowthat it was the girl from the photograph.

    `What's your name?' she asked.

    `Mathieu.'

    `You have to trust me, Mathieu,' she said. `You have totrust me, or people are going to die.'

    Mathieu looked back at the English stranger. He hadturned, and was staring directly at Mathieu. A slight grincrossed his mouth and curled the big scar on his cheek.

    `My name's Martha,' the girl said. `You have to trustme.'

Griffin turned. The guy he'd quizzed was standing besidean oil drum, staring straight at him. The flickering oil-drum fire was casting the man's shadow out behind him inthe gloom. But the shadow wasn't flickering.

   It wasn't a shadow. He could see her. Right there in theamber dark. He could see her.

   He began to move, pushing through the crowd, shovingpeople aside. He reached under his coat for his Glock.

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  But the man beside the oil drum had pulled out an airhorn and was letting it blast.

Pandemonium swept through the marketplace. Other airhorns started to blare, taking up the alarm. People wereshouting, scrambling, and surging towards the exits.Engines were starting up, trucks thundering into life.Exhaust fumes belched. Panic took hold.

   `Out of my way!' Griffin yelled, fighting his waythrough the stampeding crowd. He couldn't get through.He got a glimpse of her. She was running with the guywith the air horn.

   Griffin raised his Glock and fired two shots at the roof.The spent cases pinged as they hit the ground. The crowdaround him scattered in terror, spilling away to get as farfrom him as possible. He started to run again, but a flatbedtruck reversed right out in front of him and nearlyknocked him down.

   He ran around it, cursing, colliding with people runningthe other way. He'd lost sight of her. Where was she?

   From outside, bursts of gunfire began to chatter. Thepanic went up a gear. People were screaming. An oil drumwent over in a swirl of sparks and cinders. Two pick-upscollided as they tried to drive for the same door.

   Still running, Griffin pulled out his radio. `Close in!Secure the zone! She's here! Repeat, she's here!'

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    Martha and Mathieu ran headlong with the crowd.

    There was gunfire outside. It sounded as if a whole army

    was storming the warehouse.

       `Have you got transport?' she yelled at him.

       `Yes, yes! Come on!'

       When a raid hit a market, you just got yourself out.

    Every man for himself, that was the rule. Get out, vanish.

    Worry about the others later. If you stopped to help

    someone, you weren't helping yourself.

       But this girl Martha had probably saved lives with

    her warning. A lot of lives. She'd pre-empted the raid.

    She'd got them all moving before the UCF was in

    position.

       So he wasn't going to leave her.

       Mathieu had an old Citroën van parked near the west

    door of the warehouse. They ran to it, and Mathieu

    jumped in and started the engine as Martha climbed in on

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the passenger side.

    `We've got to move!' Martha cried.

    `I know! I know!' Mathieu replied, fighting to find firstgear.

    Martha heard a series of dull thumps, like the sound ofsomeone flicking stiff cardboard with their fingers. Sherealised that bullets were thumping into the van's rearbodywork. She glanced in her door mirror and saw the bigUCF agent with the scarred face sprinting up behind them.He was firing his pistol. Martha yelped and flinched as thesidelights of her window shattered. A bullet creased thedashboard.

    Mathieu lurched the van forward, his foot down. Bluesmoke boiled from the tyres. They hurtled towards thewest door, knocking over stacked cartons of tinned fruit.In her door mirror, Martha could see their pursuer. He wasfit and powerful, and the length of his stride was keepinghim close behind the van as it accelerated. He fired hisGlock again, the rounds punching into the van's reardoors.

    `He's right behind us!' Martha yelled.

    `I know,' said Mathieu. `Hold on.'

    The old van's rear lights had long since been smashed.When Mathieu hit the brakes, there were no red lights towarn of the sudden stop.

    At full stretch, Griffin suddenly realised that the vanhad slammed to a halt. He collided with the rear doors atfull tilt and bounced off them onto the ground, dazed.

    Mathieu threw the van forwards again, and acceleratedout of the west door into the night.

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   Behind them, Griffin picked himself up and reached forhis radio.

                          * * *

Trucks and cars were fleeing the warehouse in alldirections. They drove fast, without lights, risk balancingrisk.

   Not everyone would make it. The UCF reaction forcehad swept in and already blocked some of the routessouth. Heavy gunfire rattled and flashed in the night.

   Mathieu wrenched on the steering wheel to avoid aslower-moving market truck, then left the roadcompletely. Martha clung on. They jolted across an oldplaying field and out through a gate onto a service roadthat ran between derelict factory units and a patch ofwaste ground.

   `Look out!' Martha cried.

   A UCF truck had swung out at them, headlightsblazing. There was gunfire. Mathieu tried to turn, but atyre blew out and the van went into a skid. It tore througha chain-link fence, left the ground briefly, and then rolledand bounced down an embankment onto the wasteground.

`Any sign?' asked Griffin.

  Rafferty scrambled up the embankment from thewrecked van. The area was bathed in floodlights fromUCF vehicles.

  `Nothing,' said Rafferty. `Though there's some blood in

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the cab. Someone's hurt.'

   `They can't have gone far,' said Griffin.

   He turned to UCFA Brunol. `Close this entire zonedown. Full deployment. Lock everything down. We've gottwo hours before dawn. She's not getting away this time.'

`Hold still,' said Martha.

    `Leave it,' Mathieu replied.

    `You've got chips of windscreen glass in your face,' shesaid, `so hold still.'

    `We've got people who can do this,' said one of thewomen watching them. Her name was Sylvie.

    `I'm a doctor,' said Martha.

    The survivor camp Mathieu had brought her to wasabout five miles west of Surcourt. They'd reached it atfirst light. It was a ruined factory, with no sign of life orhabitation, but ingeniously concealed doors led down intoan extensive basement level where over fifty people lived.

    They had a water supply, provisions, a serviceablelatrine, and they'd even built a ducting system to channelcooking smoke out without giving away their location.

    `More than one of us had grandparents in theResistance,' Mathieu said. `Stories get handed down.Stories. Ideas. Techniques.'

    `I've got some stories of my own,' said Martha.

    `Maybe you start with the obvious one,' said a mancalled Yves. `Who are you?'

    `She's a wanted person,' said a woman called Lisel.`The UCF are after her. Mathieu shouldn't have broughther here.'

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   `I couldn't leave her outside,' said Mathieu, wincingslightly as Martha's tweezers removed another lump ofglass from his cheek. `Besides, her warning saved lives. Itwould have been a slaughter.'

   `It's bad enough,' said Yves. `There are dozens dead,dozens more arrested. The whole zone is locked down.Patrols everywhere. We'll have to stay underground forweeks. No foraging. No resupply. Food will go short.'

   `That's if they don't find us anyway,' said Lisel.

   Martha could hear the despair in their voices. She couldsee the hollow looks on their faces, the fear in their eyes,especially the younger ones, and the children.

   They made her think of Aleesha.

   `Listen,' she said, `listen to me...'

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                  Breathing Space

Martha felt a thrill of        anticipation whenever shestepped from the TARDIS. With the Doctor anything waspossible. Their last stop had been the holiday planet ofNacre, where the beaches had seemed endless and twinsuns had warmed the clear blue water. It had beenfantastic.

   But not, she thought, gazing down, anything like asfantastic as Earth.

   The Doctor said something and, although he wasstanding right next to her, Martha barely heard a word. Itwas impossible to drag her eyes away from the globe thatshone through the oblong display window stretching rightthe way around the curved room. For all the wonders shehad seen during her travels, there really was no place likehome.

   `I said,' a voice murmured into her ear, `are you goingto stand there gawping all day? We're not on holiday anymore, you know.'

   Martha sighed, remembering the tranquillity of Nacre.Not to mention the attentions of the hotel's extremelyhandsome waiters. Pity the Doctor couldn't sit still formore than five minutes or she'd still have been there.

   `And there was me thinking you knew how to show agirl a good time.'

   `This is a good time.' The Doctor's reflection grinned

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at her in the glass. `Come on, who wants to laze around ona beach when there's a mystery to solve? Thosetransmissions the TARDIS intercepted. The whale song ring any bells?'

   Reality came crashing back, and Martha rememberedwhere they were. On a space station; a big one, if theendless but eerily deserted corridors were anything to goby. The large, round room they were in reminded her ofthose old images of NASA mission control. Curved rowsof workstations radiated from a central hub, each occupiedby a man or woman peering into monitors.

   Martha half-expected to see guards approaching. Butshe and the Doctor might have been invisible for all theattention anyone paid them.

   If only she knew why the TARDIS had brought themhere, materialising in a storage hangar in the depths of thestation. It obviously had something to do with thosestrange signals, which had sounded to her like whale song.Maybe they came from the giant spacecraft she could see.There were hundreds of them, drifting across the planet soslowly they hardly seemed to be moving.

   `Those ships, are they human or alien?'

   `You lot don't have ships that big in 2088.' The Doctorsquinted at them. `Anyway, they're not ships.'

   `Then what are they?'

   `No idea.'

   `I thought you knew everything.' Martha peered outagain and recoiled as a metallic sphere bristling withantennae rushed through space towards her. She took aninvoluntary step back, expecting it to smash through the

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glass, sighing with relief when it veered away at the lastmoment and disappeared. `What was that?'

   `Oh, just one of the monitor probes.'

   Martha jumped. It wasn't the Doctor who'd answered.She spun round.

   A kindly-looking elderly man with thick glasses andreceding hair smiled at her. The smile faltered slightly.`Sorry, I don't think we've met. I take it you're one of thenew arrivals. I'm Conrad Morris--'

   `Professor Morris!' The Doctor grabbed the man's arm.`I'm such an admirer of your work. Martha, this is thegenius who rewrote the rulebook on bioengineering. Thentore it up and wrote a completely new rulebook!'

   `Oh, nonsense!' Morris protested, but he looked ratherpleased.

   `John Smith,' the Doctor said, flashing his psychicpaper. `This is my associate Doctor Martha Jones. Sorrywe're late, couldn't resist the duty free shop.'

   Morris barely had time to acknowledge Martha beforethe Doctor was steering him away from the window. `Nowwhere was I? Oh yes! Those huge things in the sky, thesignals don't really have to say much more, do I?'

   `Indeed not. There's still a lot of data to analyse, as youcan imagine, but the provisional results are extremelypromising. In fact, far better than we could possibly haveimagined it seems the Benefactors were notexaggerating.'

   Martha was lost. `What's going on here? And who arethe Benefactors?'

   `Have you been underground for the last month?'

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Morris asked, not unkindly.

   `Actually, yeah, she has,' the Doctor said, `deepunderground, testing this new theory about stalactites. Orwas it stalagmites? Which are the ones that grow down?Anyway, never mind! You were going to tell Martha aboutthe Benefactors.'

   The professor carried on walking, the Doctor at hisside. Martha fell in beside them, determined not to be leftbehind.

   `The Benefactors, it appears, are the salvation ofmankind,' Morris said, rather pompously. `It sounded toogood to be true, at first, and there was no shortage ofsceptics. But, judging by the initial results, the scepticswere wrong.'

   Martha shook her head, still baffled. `Why don't youstart at the beginning? I've been... away, don't forget.'

   `I'd like to know who these Benefactors are,' theDoctor said. `I mean, don't you think it's a bit of acoincidence, being the good guys and having a name likethe Benefactors? It'd be like having bad guys called theVillains.'

   Morris shrugged. `It was probably just a literaltranslation.'

   `So, those big floating things,' Martha said. `They'rethe Benefactors, right?'

   `Hardly. The Benefactors remain many thousands oflight years away. They are a solitary race. What you see isthe gift they sent us.'

   `I still don't get it.'

   `Wait until we reach central analysis,' the professor told

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her. `I'll replay the broadcast for you both. Theneverything will become clear.'

   `Broadcast, eh?' The Doctor grinned. `Good! I haven'tseen any TV in ages.'

   Morris led them along an aisle that ran between thebanks of monitors until they reached the central hub, alarge oval desk laden with equipment. Standing around it,gazing up at screens suspended overhead, were a dozen orso people, all dressed in white coats. Martha guessed theymust be the more important scientists on board.

   The screens streamed lines of data that meant nothingto her but obviously spoke volumes to the scientists,scribbling away with styli on hand-held pads as theystudied them. One broke off to confer quietly with akeyboard operator. Otherwise no one said a word. Therewere no friendly conversations, no laughter and no coffeebreaks. There was a definite tension in the air.

   `Not much office banter is there?' she said lightly.

   Morris frowned. `Not when the future of the world is atstake, Doctor Jones. Everyone here has family and friendson Earth. People they care about.'

   `Sorry, I didn't mean...'

   `No, no, I'm sure you didn't,' the professor said,smiling to show he was not offended. `But you mustunderstand, we are in the front line. We'll be the first toknow if theBenefactors were right or, God forbid, if theywere wrong and the Earth is doomed. That's a heavyburden.'

   `Funny thing,' the Doctor said. `I have no idea whothese Benefactors are or what they're doing, but I've

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already taken a dislike to them. Save the planet or don'tsave it, but don't keep people dangling. I hate dangling.'

   A serious-looking man who had been standing at theside of the hub now approached them. He wore a dark suitand fiddled with his flashy wristwatch.

   `Hello!' the Doctor said brightly. `Who're you, then?'

   `Daniel Grant,' the man answered, face a granite mask.`Head of security.'

   The Doctor flashed his psychic paper again andintroduced them both.

   `I should have guessed your people would sendsomeone here,' Grant sneered. His eyes swept over theDoctor, taking in his shock of hair and the pinstripe suitthat clashed with his trainers. `You don't look like ascientist.'

   `Doctor Smith's a bit eccentric but a genius,' Marthasaid.

   `Right on both counts,' the Doctor beamed. `Now, then,I believe Professor Morris was going to replay theBenefactors' broadcast for us.'

   `Why?' Grant was openly suspicious. `Is there anyoneon Earth who hasn't seen it a hundred times already?'

   `Let's make it a hundred and one,' the Doctor said,putting on his glasses and peering expectantly at thescreens. `Never know, could have missed something.'

   Grant stared at him. `Fine, whatever, but I think you'rejust wasting time.'

   Professor Morris stepped across to the nearestworkstation and spoke quietly to the operator. `Won't be amoment,' he said as he rejoined them. `You know, I'll

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never forget the first time I saw it. I was filled with suchhope.'

   `Why?' Martha asked.

   `Because the world was dying, that's why!Atmospheric pollution, global warming, it was allreaching critical point. The world's governments played itdown. They didn't want mass panic on their hands. Butthe evidence was there for everyone to see the icecapsmelting, the floods, the air so choked with noxious gasesthat some days it hurt to breathe.'

   Martha could scarcely believe it. Everyone had beentalking about global warming for as long as she couldremember, but she hadn't thought too much about it. Itwas something to worry about in the future. Now, itseemed, was that time.

   `So when the Benefactors made contact,' the professorcontinued, eyes far away, `it was like our prayers had beenanswered. But of course you know all that.'

   `Course we do,' the Doctor said. `But I can never resista good story. Go on what happened next?'

   A burst of static interrupted the data stream on thescreen immediately overhead. As soon as Martha saw thecreature that appeared on it she was shocked intonumbness. `People of Earth,' it said. Its voice soundedcomposed of liquid, like someone gargling while theytalked. `We feel your planet's suffering. We feel your painand your terror. But do not be afraid. We can help you.'

   Martha barely took in the words; she was too transfixedby the alien speaking them. Its impossibly long head waslike a living balloon, with tiny eyes near the top and a slit

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of a mouth at the other end. It was the colour of dough anddid not appear to have ears or a nose. The head quiveredas it spoke, as though under-filled with gas. If that was itshead, Martha thought with a shudder, she was glad shecouldn't see its body.

   `No,' she heard, a breathy gasp that for a moment shethought was coming from the speakers. Then she realisedit was the Doctor, not the alien, that had spoken. The smilehad vanished from his face and he was staring at thebizarre creature with an expression somewhere betweenanger and loathing.

   `We have the technology to scour your atmosphere, toremove the poisonous gases and give your planet thechance to breathe again.'

   `No!' the Doctor repeated, so loudly that everyoneturned to stare at him. `You have to stop them. If youdon't, everyone will die.'

   `What are you talking about?' Morris demanded.

   `For this we seek nothing in return.'

   `Don't believe a word that thing's saying.' The Doctorwaved a finger at the screen. `I've seen those creaturesbefore. Believe me, they are not beneficial.'

   Grant sneered. `They make contact for the first timeand you've seen them before. Very good, Doctor Isuppose you speak their language, too.'

   `Their language is destruction,' the Doctor said, fixingGrant with an intense look which reminded Martha thatbeneath the slightly geeky human façade was an alien whohad seen far more than a mere human could imagine.`They're the Cineraria. They take planets by stealth, wipe

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out all life and then strip out every resource until there'snothing left but ashes and the stink of death.'

   Grant smiled coldly. `You call it stealth when theycontact us, offer help and send life forms far beyond ourunderstanding? Life forms which can filter theatmosphere, collecting greenhouse gases that will bedischarged into space? If they wanted to take Earth,Doctor, why not just attack it? They're so advanced wewouldn't stand a chance.'

   `That's not how they work. The Cineraria don't go forthe crash-bam-boom stuff you lot like. Evolved on a gasplanet, see combustible weapons not such a clever idea.Oh no, they go for something more imaginative.' TheDoctor pointed at the window. `Like those things outthere. They're going to destroy the Earth.'

   Professor Morris, seemingly oblivious to the tensionbetween Grant and the Doctor, nodded enthusiastically.`We call them whales.'

   `Because of the singing,' Martha said. She'd realised,of course, that it wasn't really whale song when they'dheard it in the TARDIS, but there had been a slow,mournful quality to it that had reminded her of huge yetgraceful mammals gliding majestically through the deep.

   Except whales were benign, Martha reminded herself.If the Doctor was to be believed, and she would neverdoubt him, the gas-guzzling creatures floating above theworld her world were anything but.

   `Don't you think it's just a little too good to be true?'the Doctor demanded, loud enough to drown out theballoon creature's liquid voice. `Some alien mob just turns

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up, out of the blue, offering to put everything right afteryou lot have wrecked it? I mean, talk about not looking agift horse sorry, gift blob in the mouth. How naive canyou get?'

   `That's enough,' Grant snapped.

   `They'll destroy your planet!'

   `So you keep saying. Prove it.'

   The Doctor grimaced. `Ah, well here's the thing. I can'tactually prove it. Not as such. But give me enough timeand I will.'

   `Time is something we don't have.' Grant lookedpointedly at his watch. `Now, if you continue to cause adisturbance I'll have you removed.'

   `You just try.' Martha clapped a hand to her mouth. Thewords had come out without her meaning them to.

   `Very well,' Grant said, and pressed a button on hiswatch. Immediately a metal door set into the wall behindhim hissed open and half a dozen guards poured into theroom. Martha remembered how Grant had been fiddlingwith the watch when he'd first approached them. Theymust have been waiting outside all along, alerted by theirboss the moment he'd seen her and the Doctor.

   The security chief's smile was as cold as space. `Mycolleagues will escort you to your quarters. Some restmight calm your nerves.'

   The Doctor took a couple of steps back. `Now, let's notbe too hasty. All right, so we didn't exactly get off on theright foot. How about we have a nice cup of tea and anatter, start all over again?'

   `Best do as he says, Doctor,' Morris said.

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   Martha's eyes flicked from Grant and his heavies to theDoctor who, she noticed, was backing further awayfrom them. She edged towards him, knowing the bestplace to be in a crisis was at his side.

   `You know what? You're absolutely right,' the Doctoranswered. `The only problem is I'm not very good atdoing what I'm told.'

   With that he raised one arm, sonic screwdriver in hishand. Its tip glowed blue and all hell broke loose. In aheartbeat the muted lighting turned flashing red and thedeafening scream of a siren made Martha cover her ears.She could see Grant barking orders but couldn't hear aword.

   Then the Doctor was grabbing her hand, pulling heraway. `Run!'

   She didn't need to be told a second time. They racedback along the aisle between the workstations towards themain double doors the Doctor had led her through justminutes before. To Martha's horror, they were slowlysliding shut.

   `Come on, faster!'

   She didn't think she could go any faster, but thethought of being trapped in there with Grant's thugsspurred her on. They sprinted the last few yards and onlyjust squeezed through before the doors closed with aheavy thud.

   Had there been any guards on the other side she and theDoctor would have run straight into them, but the corridorwas deserted. Martha leaned against the wall, gulpingdown air, heart thumping. How she envied the Doctor

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who, despite his 900 years, didn't seem at all out ofbreath.

   He flashed the sonic screwdriver over a keypad at theside of the doorway, fanning the air when sparks cascadedout and a scorching smell filled the corridor. `Sorry!Smoking terrible habit. You all right, Martha? Only youlook a bit peaky.'

   `I'm fine,' she said. Her legs trembled so badly shecould barely stand but she didn't want to give him thesatisfaction of knowing it, not with his warped sense ofhumour. `What did you do back there?'

   `Fire alarm brilliant, eh? I noticed the sensors on theceiling and knew the doors would close automaticallybecause that's what always happens in the films. But wecan't stand here gassing. Remember the way back to theTARDIS?'

   Martha recalled the blur of endless corridors, lit by coldwhite overhead strip lights, remembered the lifts and allthose left and right turns that had finally led them here.`No,' she said with a shake of her head. `Sorry.'

   The Doctor flashed his teeth. `Don't be! I need to getback there quickly, and I want you to lead Grant's goonsaway.'

   `What do you want me to do?'

   `Just keep moving for as long as you can. And stay onthis floor that way you can't inadvertently lead them tothe TARDIS. They'll have the doors open before long, sothe more time you can buy me, the quicker I can putthings right.'

   `How bad is it?'

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   The Doctor stared at her sombrely. `End of the worldbad.'

   `Right, well, perhaps you'd better get going, DoctorSmith.'

   `I will, Doctor Jones. Try to stay out of trouble.' Withthat he dashed down the corridor towards the nearest lift.

   Martha knew she had to wait for Grant and his men toactually see her if she was going to lead them away fromthe TARDIS. At least she didn't have to wait long. TheDoctor had only just stepped into the lift when the doubledoors behind her hissed and began to slide open.

   `Here we go,' she groaned, and started to run.

   `Stop!' she heard Grant cry out, followed seconds laterby the sound of footsteps pounding along the corridorafter her.

   When she came to an intersection she took the corridorto her left, going right at the next one she reached. Marthaforced herself to concentrate on running, rather thanthinking about what Grant would do when he finallycaught her.

   Soon her breath was rasping in her throat, her chest wasburning and she had to fight to ignore the stitch that flaredin her side. If only she could be sure the Doctor hadreached the TARDIS by now, she needn't be so worriedabout leading them away.

   `Stop where you are!'

   The bellowed command from behind only spurred heron. Walls blurred as Martha, teeth clenched against thepain, raced along the corridor. Now she could hearpounding footsteps closing in on her. Another junction

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loomed. Martha veered left, crying out when she bangedher elbow as she took the turn too quickly.

   Ahead she spied a lift, doors open. The Doctor had toldher to stay on this floor, but he wasn't the one with a packof goons on his tail. Martha was certain they'd taken theelevator up to get here, so as long as she didn't go backdown she couldn't lead them to the TARDIS.

   She staggered into the lift and saw from the display thatshe was on the thirteenth floor. Bad omen, she thought asshe hit the button for the twenty-fifth at random. Shoutsmade her look round. Grant was leading a handful ofguards down the corridor towards her. They were only afew yards away.

   `Come on!' Martha screamed at the doors.

   `Going somewhere?' Grant taunted.

   `Yeah,' said Martha as the doors slid shut. `Up.'

   The last thing she saw before they closed was Grant,face contorted with anger, sprinting towards her. A secondlater she heard the boom of fists upon metal.

   The lift ascended and Martha's spirits rose with it.She'd outfoxed Grant. No doubt he'd be after her as soonas she got to the twenty-fifth floor, but by the time hefound her the Doctor would surely have had all the timehe needed.

   Score one for the good guys, Martha thought, smiling.

   The smile disappeared as quickly as her hopes whenthe lift juddered to a halt, almost knocking her off her feet.Then it slowly descended.

   `No!' She jabbed button after button but it made nodifference.

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    Grant must have been able to override the lift. OK, shemight as well be philosophical about it. She'd given him agood run and now it was over.

    As there was no point trying to escape, Martha decidedto play it cool. When the doors swished open, she wasleaning against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted to oneside. `Care to join me?'

    Grant looked like thunder. `You and I are going to havea little talk. I'm going to find out what you two are reallyup to.'

    Before he could reach in and grab her, she pushedherself away from the wall and strolled casually out of thelift. `Come on, then. I haven't got all day.'

    The guards looked uncertainly at Grant.

    `I'll take her back to control,' he snapped, no doubtfurious at having his authority undermined. `You find thatfriend of hers.'

    Martha could only hope she had bought the Doctorenough time.

    `We can do this the easy way or the hard way,' Grantsnarled once the guards had stomped off out of sight.

    `Very original. For your sake we'll make it the easyway.' Martha turned and, without a backwards glance,began walking along the corridor. Grant swore and wentafter her. At least he made no effort to grab her, to try toregain some authority by taking control of the situation.Better yet, he kept pace in silence. Only when it becameclear Martha was lost did he lead the way. Not that he wastaking a risk; Martha knew he'd easily catch her if shetried to run.

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    The atmosphere in the control centre had changed.When she walked in, all heads turned her way and thelooks she was given ranged from suspicious to downrighthostile. Even Professor Morris was scowling as hemarched up to them, waving a finger at Martha.

    `What on earth is going on? And where's DoctorSmith?'

    Martha shrugged, realising she could still help theDoctor by keeping silent.

    `I have men searching for him,' Grant said. `He can'thide for ever.'

    `I don't understand,' Morris said. `We're trying to savethe world. What could you possibly hope to achieve withall this... nonsense?'

    Martha looked away from him, towards the overheadscreens.

    The Doctor looked straight back at her.

    `Hello,' he said cheerfully, giving a little wave.

    `What the hell?' Grant's cheeks flushed with angerwhen he realised the Doctor had hijacked every screen inthe room. Martha saw the TARDIS console in thebackground and sighed with relief. She'd been worriedGrant's men might have found him but behind those olddoors he was safe.

    `Martha, look I'm on the telly!'

    Grant rounded on Martha. `How's he doing this?'

    `You tell me.'

    `Now then,' the Doctor continued. `I suppose you'vegot a million questions but they're just going to have towait. See, while you lot were running around like headless

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chickens, some of us were working.'

   `Tell me,' Grant said. `Or you'll only make it worse foryourself.'

   `I don't know how he's doing it, all right?' And that wasthe truth. The Doctor moved in mysterious ways, when hewasn't jumping about, getting all excited.

   `And guess what? I worked it all out! Although to befair, it wasn't that much of a challenge, not for me at anyrate. Where was I? Oh yeah, I know.'

   The Doctor's face suddenly vanished from the screen,to be replaced by a close-up shot of one of the floatingbio-forms. Martha grimaced at the sight of it. The thingwas a shapeless grey bubble studded with gill-likeprotrusions. Various parts of it bulged and then flattenedout as it drew in and discharged gases. While there wasnothing to provide a sense of scale, she already knew itwas huge.

   `Now listen,' the Doctor's voice piped up.

   A high-pitched keening echoed around the controlroom, followed by a sonorous rumbling. Seconds later theunearthly duet replayed itself.

   `Yeah, I know, it sounds like whale song. But it's not.What you're hearing are encoded signals.'

   Morris frowned. `What's he talking about?'

   `One signal goes out from each beastie, transmittinghow much gas they've stored up. The other responds withinstructions to maintain position.'

   `He's insane,' Grant hissed. `He can't prove anything.'

   `Until, that is,' the Doctor said, `I do this.'

   The signal changed. The whale song became a harsh

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trilling. Immediately the creature ceased undulating.Gasps of horror filled the room as it began to sink, slowlyspiralling down with its lethal cargo towards Earth.

    `My God,' Morris gasped, staring through the window.

    Martha looked out and immediately saw something waswrong. The creatures' movements were no longer random.Instead they were drifting in formation across the globe.`What are they doing?' she asked, not expecting ananswer.

    `Taking up position,' the Doctor said, striding into theroom, sonic screwdriver in his hand. `They know we're onto them.'

    Grant made a move towards him.

    The Doctor shook his head sharply. `Remember whathappened the last time you tried?'

    Grant eyed the screwdriver and backed off.

    `I don't understand,' Martha said, eyes flicking fromthe Doctor to the screen. It had frozen, and his unmovingface stared back at her.

    `That? I recorded it before I left the TARDIS justadded a simple time delay.'

    `Yeah, but why?'

    `I had to get everyone's attention or Mr Grouch herewouldn't have given me the chance to prove my point.'

    `You've doomed everyone,' Grant scowled.

    The Doctor rolled his eyes. `Don't be so dramatic. I justhacked the signal and made one of them think it had beenordered to drop.'

    `You killed it?' Martha asked.

    `They're not sentient beings, Martha, just big windbags

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with tiny nervous systems that can only respond to basiccommands.' He brushed past them to the nearestworkstation. `That one will come down smack in themiddle of the Atlantic. No one gets hurt. Oh, and thecreature itself will probably survive, if that makes you feelany better.'

    `What about the rest?' Morris was staring anxiously atthe creatures. `It wouldn't take many to wipe out a city.'

    `So you do believe me! Brilliant!'

    `He might, but I don't,' Grant said through gritted teeth.`That thing only went down because you interfered. Nowyou've set the rest of them off.'

    `You still don't get it, do you?'

    `Doctor!' Martha cried. The creatures had suddenlypicked up speed and were now racing across the globe.

    `All right, keep your shirt on. Those things don'texactly rush.'

    `They're rushing now.'

    The Doctor glanced out and frowned. `Clever... they'reusing the gas to propel themselves,' he muttered, and thenstarted flashing the sonic across the workstation.

    Martha said nothing, not wanting to break hisconcentration.

    Morris joined her. The professor flinched as theswarming creatures broke up into clusters of swirlingpatterns, high above the continents.

    Martha looked anxiously at the Doctor. Whatever hewas doing, she wished he would hurry up and get on withit. Time was running out.

    `They'll hit the cities first,' the Doctor called, eyes

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fixed on the workstation. `Kill billions at a stroke and thenwait for the gas cloud to finish the rest.'

   `Can't the military take them out with missiles?'Martha asked.

   `Yeah, except you'd have a massive explosion insteadof a burst of lethal gas not much of an improvement.' Hewaved his free hand dismissively, obviously trying tofocus on what he was doing. From the grim expression onhis face it wasn't going well. `Frequency's constantlychanging... can't lock it down...'

   Martha chewed on a nail. The creatures were slowing,which had to mean they were getting ready to drop. Farbelow she could see a shadow over London; her ownfamily would be gone, but she'd have descendants livingin the city and she couldn't bear the thought of anythinghappening to them, or to anyone else, come to that.

   She stared at the Doctor but his face was unreadable.He was sonicking like crazy but nothing was happening.Martha felt like screaming.

   `Isn't there anything we can do?' Morris pleaded.

   The Doctor suddenly smiled. `You could just ask themto stop.'

   `We can communicate with those creatures?'

   `Not them! Blimey, for a clever man you aren't halfdense at times. I meant those Benefactors of yours.'

   `We told you,' Grant barked. `They're light yearsaway.'

   `Are they really?' Now the Doctor was playing thesonic flamboyantly across the work station. `Thing is,' hesaid. `I'd already cracked the code so I only had to lock

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the signal. Then I could hack into their system. Like so.'

   Martha hurried away from the window as the spaceoutside distorted.

   `Cloaking device,' the Doctor grinned. `And oops,guess who broke it.'

   The stars disappeared as a gigantic shape shimmeredinto existence alongside the station. It was a spaceship,but unlike any Martha had seen before a conical moundof bone-like structures, held together by what looked likea dull greyish resin and dotted with pinpricks of light.There were no engines that she could see. Perhaps theywere there but she just didn't recognise them. The shipwas big enough to dwarf the station and so utterly alienher mind struggled to comprehend it.

   `There you go,' the Doctor said, rubbing his handstogether gleefully.

   Grant stared slack-jawed at the Benefactor ship.

   Even Morris, eminent scientist as he was, was havingtrouble accepting the proof his own eyes presented. `B-b-but...' he stammered.

   `My thoughts exactly!' the Doctor said, putting onehand on the professor's shoulder and the other on Grant's.`Every tracking station on Earth will have picked that up.Every nuclear missile you've got will be aimed right at it.'

   `What about the gas bombs?' Martha asked. `Blowingup the ship won't be enough to stop them.'

   `It won't get that far look.' The grey creatures weremoving away from the Earth, floating harmlessly intospace. `The Cineraria know they've been spotted. They'llalready have detected Earth's defences. Like I told you,

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they don't do explosions. They do stealth. And I blewtheir cover. If just one nuke hits them, it's goodnight. Sothey've admitted defeat.'

    Grant was still staring out of the window. `They'regoing,' he breathed.

    Martha looked. The Cineraria ship was sliding out oforbit.

    `What's to say they won't return?' Morris had snappedout of his stupor.

    `They don't know about me. As far as they'reconcerned, it was the human race that beat them. Thatlittle mouse has roared. So, no, they won't be back.'

    `We were wrong,' Morris said, eyeing Martha and theDoctor. `Thank you.'

    `Just doing my job,' the Doctor said in a bad cowboyaccent. Then he turned serious. `But if you want to thankme, save your planet the hard way.'

    `What do you mean?'

    `No short cuts, no quick fixes. You don't need anyone'shelp. The Cineraria think you lot are clever but I know youare. You're really quite amazing.'

    Martha smiled. She loved it when the Doctor gotexcited and now he was positively bouncing, hands flyingall over the place.

    `I mean, you can be stupid and careless,' he went on.`Look at what you did to the Earth. And yet and yet there was Newton and Einstein and Hawking and all theothers, all those great minds. And all the beauty oh,don't get me started on that! The Sistine Chapel, the EiffelTower, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon--'

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    `Doctor,' Martha interrupted. Sometimes he neededreining in.

    `What? Oh, yeah, sorry. Anyway, my point is, you havethe brains and the strength to solve your own problems.The Cineraria didn't completely clear the atmosphere. Butthey bought you plenty of breathing space. So use it!Finish the job. You're smart enough. And, besides, if youfind that gas bag floating somewhere in the Atlantic youcan nick their technology.'

    `Yes,' Morris said, eyes widening as he considered thepossibilities. `I don't pretend we'll understand it all but Iam sure we can extrapolate...'

    He was still babbling on when the Doctor tookMartha's hand and led her quietly out through the doors.`Saved the world in less than an hour,' the Doctor said asthey headed for the lift. `I think that's a record.'

    `Full of ourselves, aren't we?'

    `Yeah, well, you can't blame me. Sometimes I'm soclever I even surprise myself. And it takes a lot to surpriseme, I can tell you.'

    `Well, you can use some of that genius of yours to takeme to Earth.'

    The Doctor raised an eyebrow. `Well, you did it.Surprised me. We've got the whole of time and space toexplore and you want to go home?'

    `I don't want to go home,' Martha said. `I want you toshow me the world ten years from now so I can see how itall works out.'

    `Then Earth ten years from now it is. But don't youworry. They manage to sort themselves out, just like I

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said. Everything's brilliant!'

   Martha laughed and slipped her arm through his.

   As long as the Doctor was around, everything reallywas brilliant.

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    `I can't do it alone,' Martha told the Surcourt group over

    supper. `I just can't. I'll do everything I can, but I need

    help. I need as many of you as possible to become Martha

    Jones.'

       `What?' laughed Sylvie.

       Martha grinned and said, `I mean... do what I'm doing.

    Get out there and make contact with other groups. Share

    the stories I've shared with you these past few days. Tell

    them what's going to happen and what they have to get

    ready for. Be me, I suppose. Multiply me, so I'm in as

    many places as possible, spreading the word, and get

    others to do the same. Be Martha Jones, and make more

    Marthas.'

       `I respect you, Martha, I really do,' said Yves, `but are

    words going to be enough? Words and ideas? To beat the

    Master, we need to fight.'

       Several voices murmured in agreement.

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  `There are all sorts of ways of fighting,' said Martha.

  `I mean kill the Master,' said Yves.

  `The Doctor--'

  `With respect,' said Antoine, `this Doctor you speak ofmay be dead already.'

  `He isn't,' said Martha. `I'd know.'

After supper, she helped Mathieu clean the dishes. `Whatabout you?' she asked him. `Do you fancy becoming aMartha Jones?'

   `Everyone I meet, I'll tell them what you told me,' hereplied, `but I agree with Yves and the others. We shouldfight. They say the Underground is growing in strength, inthe east, in Germany and Switzerland. I've been planningto head that way, to see if I can join them. Maybe I can getthe Underground active there too.'

   `I've heard people speak about the Underground.'

   `There are lots of groups,' Mathieu told her. `Allindependent, but if we could link them up...'

   `The UCF is strong,' said Martha, `and theToclafane...'

   `So what else do we do?' asked Mathieu.

   `Believe?' she suggested.

   Mathieu wrung out the dishcloth and drummed hisfingers on the edge of the bowl. Tap-tap-tap-tap! Tap-tap-tap-tap!

   `These stories you've told us,' he said, `of other worldsand alien creatures. Are they true?'

   `What do you think?' she asked.

   `I think the sky opened two months ago and unearthly

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things rained down and changed the world. I thinkanything is possible now. So you've been to these places,to these other worlds and times?'

    She nodded.

    `The Doctor took you there? What is he really like?'

    `He's extraordinary. He never gives up. He never stopsfighting. But he always finds the cleverest way to fight.And, believe me, that's never with bombs and guns.'

    `Does he know what the Toclafane are?' Mathieuasked.

    `No, not yet.'

    `Do you?'

    She shook her head.

    She helped him carry the bowl of dish water over to thegrey water recycler and tip it in.

    `I can't stay here much longer,' she told him. `I need tomove on.'

    `Security's really tight in this zone,' he replied. `Maybeanother month.'

    `I can't wait that long,' she said.

    Mathieu shrugged and said, `So we'll find a way, andI'll come with you.'

    `There's no need--' Martha began.

    `I can take you to other groups between here andCharleville. They, in turn, can link us to others.'

    `You don't have to do that,' she said.

    `I'm doing it for me,' he said. `I think it's time I wentlooking for the Underground.'

    `So how do we get out?' she asked.

    `I'll think of a way,' he replied.

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Griffin and his men were supervising house-to-housesweeps in the suburbs of Surcourt when the call fromBrunol came through. Griffin flipped out his phone.

   `Speak.'

   `Are you looking at the Over Watch?'

   `No.'

   `I recommend you do, fast,' Brunol said.

   Holding the phone to his ear, Griffin jogged past therows of sobbing detainees held at gunpoint, and headedfor his vehicle. Guard dogs stretched on their chains andbarked at the frightened captives.

   `Shut them up,' Griffin told Jenks.

   He got into the cab and pulled up Over Watch on thevehicle PC.

   `You seeing it?' asked Brunol over the phone.

   `Yeah,' said Griffin.

   <Positive make, fugitive Martha Jones. Labour camp inTournai> the message window read.

   `Is this confirmed?' Griffin asked.

   `It came through a verified UCF device about twentyminutes ago,' said Brunol. `I've back-checked. Sourcesays Jones was seen at the camp around nine this morning.Three separate sightings, including one made by a campguard.'

   `That was two hours ago,' said Griffin. `How far isTournai from here?'

   `It's Belgium. Over the border, about an hour's drive ifyou push it.'

   `Stand by,' Griffin said. He leaned out of the cab. `With

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me! Now!' he yelled. His men broke towards him on thedouble.

  Griffin started the engine.

  `Brunol?'

  `Still here.'

  `Clear all the roadblocks and checkpoints between hereand Tournai. Warn them we're coming through and we'renot stopping. Get the labour camp secured, the labourcamp and its immediate location. Mobilise everythingyou've got.'

  `Of course.'

  `Brunol?'

  `Yes?'

  `Secure the camp, but nobody moves in until I'm there.Are we clear? Nobody makes a move for Martha Jonesuntil I'm there.'

  `Understood.'

  Griffin snapped the phone shut. His men were aboard.He put the vehicle in gear and stood on the accelerator.

  `We gotta be somewhere in a hurry, chief?' askedBremner.

  `Tournai. Load up.'

  `Yeah?'

  Griffin nodded.

  `We've got her.'

`As easy as that?' asked Martha, smirking.

   Yves nodded.

   `Just about,' he said, typing another few words on therugged PC's keyboard.

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    <Additional confirmation, fugitive Martha Jones.Tournai labour camp. Request instructions> the screenread.

    There was a pause. The network pinged.

    <All UCF/Tournai. Hold position and await personnelrendezvous> the new message window read.

    The flash market operators had captured the UCF truckduring the supply convoy hijack. All the convoy vehicleshad been ditched at the warehouse, or dumped inreservoirs and quarries. It would take the UCF a goodwhile to realise that they were missing an ATV that wasstill active.

    `I called in some favours,' Mathieu said. `Consider thisride a thank you from the marketeers for your warning.'

    They loaded their backpacks into the ATV. Dressed incombat boots, army pants and a black leather jacket,Martha said a quick goodbye to the members of theSurcourt group. A wind was picking up, rustling thebranches of the elms and poplars that shaded the ruinedfactory.

    `Get indoors, all of you,' she said. `You shouldn't beout here.'

    `God bless you, Martha,' said Sylvie.

    `Keep Mathieu safe!' laughed Antoine.

    `Remember. Believe,' Martha said, looking at them.She tapped a finger against her temple. `We'll win this ifwe remember and believe.'

    Mathieu had already given a last wave to his friendsand climbed into the cab. `Martha?' he called.

    She opened the passenger door, and looked back at the

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group one last time.

   `Be Martha Jones for me,' she told them, with a grin.

   She got in, and they drove away down the road.

   The Surcourt group had been good to her. Martha feltan emotional tug as they left them behind, as if she mightshed a tear or two at leaving them, but she hadn't allowedherself to cry so far, and she wasn't about to start.

Riding in a UCF vehicle had its advantages. Heading east,through Belsour and Travent-Ville, most checkpointssimply waved them through. The ones that were strictenough to stop them saw nothing amiss with Mathieu'scounterfeit pass and paperwork. None of them evennoticed that there was a second person in the vehicle.

   The dashboard PC, opened in its rubberised casing,flashed them constant updates from Over Watch, enoughto forewarn Mathieu on a couple of occasions and allowhim to detour UCF mobilisations.

   By nightfall they had reached a small village on theOise, and made contact with the survivor group there. Thegroup helped them conceal the ATV, and then took them totheir shelter and gave them beds and a meal.

   In return, Martha told a few more of her stories. Somewere stories she'd never told before. Others were tales sowell rehearsed that they told themselves.

   She answered questions and listened to hopes and fears.She told them what she knew, and asked for their help.She urged them to keep the word moving.

   She did what the Doctor had asked her to do.

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The next day, at first light, rain had set in.

   When they started up the ATV and woke the PC, OverWatch was buzzing with alerts. Their ruse had beendiscovered. Someone, somewhere the thug with thescarred face, Martha imagined was seriously raging.Blanket sweeps had been ordered, border closures, raidsand searches.

   They drove through the rain towards Rumigny.

   `We'll have to ditch this ride soon,' Martha said.

   Mathieu nodded.

   `We could be carrying a tracker,' Martha said, `ormaybe they can trace our transmissions via the ArchangelNet. Trace them right back to this PC.'

   `I know. I just want to get as far as Aisonagne, OK?'

   `OK.'

They dumped the ATV in a river long before Aisonagne.The rain was sheeting down and the UCF was closing itsnoose. Helicopter gunships swept the skies, and Marthasaw two scudding shoals of Toclafane.

   They trekked on foot through rain-swept woods,avoiding the highways, and made it to a place calledVeulette by mid-afternoon.

   The village was dead. What looked suspiciously like amass grave lurked in the woodland behind the little schoolhouse.

   They pushed on, and reached Saint Marcel by nightfall.The rain persisted. A sympathetic farmer, living alone in astone house on the side of a sloping hill, gave them a rideto Aisonagne in his pick-up. He kept to back roads and

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field tracks, rolling slowly with his headlights off. Themain highways were bright with flood lamps andsearchlights.

   The farmer dropped them off a mile away fromAisonagne, and showed them the path to take. Theyreached the town at ten o'clock, and were taken in by asmall survivor group that was sheltering in the cellars ofthe town hall.

   There was time for soup and one story, one well-rehearsed story. Martha gave them the quick version ofher speech, and hoped it would be enough.

   At two, under a moonless night that had only juststopped raining, the Aisonagne group led them throughwet fields to the suburban town of Banville.

   A much larger group was hidden there, a survivorcommunity nearly seventy strong. Exhausted, Martha didher thing again, cued and encouraged by Mathieu. She'ddone it so many times, it was starting to sound stale to her.She hoped it didn't sound stale to them. The congregationseemed to listen, earnestly.

   `The Underground? Any of you know anything aboutthe Underground?' Mathieu asked afterwards as theydrank bitter coffee and snacked on dry biscuits.

   No one seemed to know anything.

   `I need to make contact with another group,' Marthatold the leader of the Banville enclave. `I need to keepmoving. Can you help me?'

   The man nodded.

   `We'll have to leave early,' he said.

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Early meant four-thirty in the morning. Martha had barelyslept. The Banville group led her and Mathieu out into thedark. The rain had begun again, and it was chilly andmiserable. Weary and cold to her bones, Martha shivered.

   They followed a river through woodland, and passed ahuge series of mineral quarries where cranes rose likegangling praying mantises around a half-finished, half-mile-high statue of the Master. It was as if he was lookingdown at her, his cheeky grin half-complete.

   After an hour, the Banville group made signs that theywere about to turn back.

   `Keep going,' said the leader. `Follow the edge of thelake around until you reach the road. That will take youinto Bassionaire.'

   `Is there a group there?' asked Martha. `A group we cancontact?'

   `I've sent word to them to expect you,' the leader said.

   There were no goodbyes. The Banville group simplyvanished into the drizzle and the night.

   They trudged on. The rain fell even harder. The trackwas mud.

   `It can't be much further,' Martha groaned.

   `Can't it?' Mathieu replied.

   Hard, savage lights suddenly banged on. They wereblinded. Caught in the floodlights, Martha and Mathieufumbled around. They heard voices shouting. They heardmen moving towards them through the wet undergrowth.They heard weapons racking.

   `Down! Get down!' someone shouted.

   They got down. Martha saw Mathieu reaching towards

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his pack. She knew he was carrying a sawn-off shotgun.

   `Don't!' she cried. `Please don't!'

   Armed men were all around them, pushing them down,searching their pockets.

   It was all over. The UCF had got them.

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    The chugging Chinook helicopter came pounding in out

    of the blistering midday heat. It was travelling low and

    fast, swooping south, dragging its hard, black shadow

    across the dusty crags and hills east of Izmir.

       The pilot said something over the intercom.

       `Say again?' said Martha.

       `I said not long now, Miss Jones,' the pilot crackled.

       She was strapped into a seat on the starboard side of the

    cabin, gazing out of the window in the hope of catching

    one last glimpse of the glittering Aegean. It was

    sweltering hot in the Chinook's cabin, and there were

    strong fumes from the hastily maintained engine, but it

    sure as hell beat walking. It was the fastest she'd travelled

    in four months, and the first time she'd flown since Day

    Zero. The chopper, a Turkish Air Force bird purloined by

    the Bulgarian cells of the Underground, was fitted with a

    transponder      that   broadcast      code-correct     UCF

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transmissions. Even so, they didn't want to stay in the airfor too long.

   Martha fanned her face and tried to enjoy theexperience. It made a change from moving on foot, fromlurching trucks and run-down cars, from steamers andcontainer ships, from horseback and dog-sled, frommopeds and the occasional bicycle. She'd even ridden afreight train for two hundred miles between labour campsin the Ukraine.

   She'd moved through Europe and the ex-Soviet statesto the gateway of the East with the help of theUnderground and their whisper channels. She had doneher job and told her stories every step of the way.

   The Underground wasn't one entity. In the grim weeksfollowing Day Zero, separate resistance efforts had sprungup independently in many countries. Some worked alone,unaware of any similar causes. Others had tentativelylinked, sharing intelligence, supplies, weapons, movingrefugees and fugitives across borders under the nose of theUCF. Each cell, each group, was made up of the mostdevoted and determined men and women Martha had evermet. They had put their lives on the line for Marthaseveral times. Five members of the Slovenian cell haddied getting Martha out of Ljubljana, and the headquartersof the Munich cell had been raided two days after she'dpassed through. All the resistance members who hadn'tgot out in time had been shipped off to UCF punishmentcamps in Hungary. Rumours said the Munich raid hadbeen led by a big, scar-faced UCF agent. A cell inBelgrade had been wiped out by the Toclafane the night

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before Martha had been scheduled to link with them atKladanj. She'd spent three days on the run in the Trebevicforests, trying to regain contact with the movement.

   Her first point of contact with the Underground hadbeen in the rain-drenched night woods above Bassionairein Eastern France. The Banville group had set the contactup, sending word ahead through their network of agents.Martha and Mathieu had thought that the UCF hadcornered them, but it had been the Underground.

   The Bassionaire cell had been ready with questions.They'd interviewed them both, carefully. It took them along while to accept that Martha wasn't a UCF plant sentto undermine them. That entire zone of France had beenchoked by UCF raids and searches after the Tournai ruse.

   Once she'd proved her credentials her selfless triageefforts following a UCF ambush had helped with that the Bassionaire cell had taken her seriously. They hadlinks to the East. Messages had been sent back and forththrough the whisper channels, city to city, agent to agent.Word was, someone called the Brigadier wanted to meether. He would be waiting for her at a contact point calledCursus Hill in Turkey.

   Mathieu had stayed with the Bassionaire Underground.The last Martha had heard, he'd been heading back toDijon to help mobilise a cell there.

   From the racing helicopter, Martha could see the hugeresource plants and mineheads crusting the Aegean coastof Turkey. She could see long, threading caravans of slavelabourers, moving to work under UCF escort in the dustylandscape below.

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   On the outskirts of vanquished Izmir, anothermonolithic statue of the beaming Master dominated theview. There were effigies of him all over the world. She'dbeen told he'd even got himself carved into MountRushmore. She decided she'd confirm that when she tookher trek to the USA.

   It was four months since Day Zero. Her year was athird gone.

The Chinook's engine tone altered.

    `Coming in now, Miss Jones,' the pilot radioed, inpolite Turkish. `I won't be able to stay on the LZ long, soI'll say goodbye now. It's been an honour, and I won'tforget the things you've told me.'

    `Thank you,' Martha replied, adjusting her headset.`Get home safe.'

    `I'll try,' the pilot laughed.

    `Will they be there waiting for me?' she asked.

    `If the whisper channels have done their job. Stay nearthe LZ. Contact word is Benton.'

    `Benton? Benton?'

    `I don't make the pass codes up.'

    `Right.'

    `Good luck, Miss Jones.'

    The Chinook dropped sharply. Below them, the drylandscape loomed up, hard rocks and wind-blown crags.

    Its blades beating hard, the helicopter settled on a patchof rough ground. The rotors swirled up a huge vortex ofwhite dust.

    Martha un-snapped her harness release, grabbed her

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rucksack, and slid the door open. The outdoor heat hit her,gritty and fierce. She jumped out, and ran through thesand-blast of the rotor-wash, head down.

   The silhouetted pilot gave her a thumbs-up from theChinook's cockpit, and then the noisy bird rose into theair, turning and tilting, nose down, climbing to head for asafe field outside Istanbul.

   Martha watched it go, sweat already beading her face.

   It flew out of sight. The sound of its rotors doppleredaround the crags for a while after it had disappeared.

   She was on her own. The sun blazed down. Cricketsbuzzed in the dry scrub. There was no shade to speak of.Martha pulled out her water bottle and took a swig. Shewaited. No one came. The dry bowl of crags around herbaked in the searing sun.

`You get it?' asked Griffin.

   Bremner nodded. Bremner was the intel expert.

   `Sweet intercept. Got their chatter word for word,chief,' he said, adjusting his PC. Rafferty looked on,mopping sweat from his forehead.

   `Want a playback?' Bremner asked.

   `Just the main points,' said Griffin.

   `She's set down, right where we thought she would.Her bird is in return passage,' Bremner said. `Apparently,the contact word is Benton.'

   `Right where we thought she would,' Griffin mused.

   `The Chinook's going to buzz right back over us in afew minutes, chief,' said Jenks. He'd got a shoulder-mounted GTAM out of the truck. `Want me to spoil its

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day?'

   `No,' said Griffin. `She might hear the boom. Put thataway. Contact UCF Istanbul on the Over Watch and tellthem to crump the Chinook when it arrives at their end.'

   `Will do,' said Jenks, a note of disappointment in hisvoice.

   They'd spent the best part of three months slowlyclosing in. It had become a personal quest for Griffin.Rafferty had begun to refer to him as Ahab. The ADC wasbacking Griffin all the way, but it had become clear fromher communications that their Master was increasinglyaggravated by Martha Jones's continued liberty.

   `Saddle up,' Griffin said. `Let's go and collect her.'

   They got into the waiting jeeps parked on the roastinghill road.

   `He's got to love us for this,' Griffin said. `MarthaJones and the Eastern Underground? We're going to blowtheir net wide open. We're going to give him MarthaJones and the infamous Brigadier.'

   `Go!' he ordered. The jeeps kicked up plumes of dust asthey sped away.

Martha crunched her way up the dry valley. The skyoverhead was an impossible, cloudless blue. The sunlightwas so intense, it seemed to anchor down or cancel outany possibility of a breeze. The crickets throbbed.

   She entered a village near the LZ. It was a ruin. Trashand debris littered the roads and broken-down houses. Shehalted as she heard something cough and snort.

   The dogs were hungry. No one had fed them in months.

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Blank-eyed, they moved as a pack, pawing through thewreckage of the world, sniffing for blood.

   They'd scented her.

   Martha froze, hearing them approach: the skitter ofunclipped claws on stone, the rattle and growl of famishedgullets.

   The pack rounded the corner of the ruined block aheadof her. It was led by an ugly mastiff that, even inextremity, weighed as much as she did. The dogs began togrowl. Foam and spittle dripped from their loose, blackgums.

   Martha froze, and slid her left hand down the front ofher top. As the dogs began to charge her, she pulled outthe whistle and blew three hard blasts.

   She couldn't hear the sounds, but the dogs could. Theyscattered, yelping.

   It wasn't the first time that trick had saved her life.

   `Martha Jones?'

   She turned.

   A man in black combat fatigues was standing behindher, aiming a pistol at her.

   `Martha Jones?' he asked again.

   `Are you UCF?' she asked, gripped with fear.

   `It depends,' the man replied. `What's the word?'

   `Benton?' she offered.

   The man lowered his pistol. He smiled.

   `Good reply,' he said. `Welcome to Cursus Hill, MarthaJones. I'm the Brigadier.'

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    There was nobody there. Griffin got out of his jeep and

    gazed into the heat.

      `No one,' Handley reported, running back to him.

      `But this is Cursus Hill?' asked Griffin.

      `That's what intel said, chief,' said Handley.

      `But there's no one here?'

      `No one, boss.'

    `There is no Cursus Hill, actually,' the Brigadier told her

    as their truck bounced along the unpaved road. `It's

    disinformation. Cursus Hill isn't a geographical location,

    it's just the code name we give to a meet point. We decide

    where Cursus Hill is going to be depending on the nature

    of the operation.'

        `I see,' she said.

        `You are a high-value target, Miss Jones,' the Brigadier

    said. `To our certain knowledge, quite apart from their

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general security echelons, they have at least threededicated kill-squads hunting for you. One in particularwas closing on your heels in Istanbul, so we had to playthings close to our chest. We've changed the location ofCursus Hill four times in the last twenty hours. I imaginethe UCF will be cursing your name just about now.'

   Martha nodded and said, `And your name is?'

   The Brigadier blinked apologetically. `I do beg yourpardon, Miss Jones,' he said, showing her his credentials.`I'm Brigadier Erik Calvin, ex-Royal Marines, ex-UNIT.'

   `Creds can be faked,' said Martha.

   `Indeed they can, Miss Jones. It will be hard for me toconvince you of my proper provenance. I merely hopedthe fact that we hadn't shot you might have done the trick.My father was a member of UNIT in the seventies. Toldme all sorts of stories about the Doctor. He was a bit of adandy, I hear. They were the days of Lethbridge-Stewartand all that. I thought the Benton clue would have been atip off.'

   `I'm sorry,' Martha said. `I have no idea what you'retalking about. Before my time, maybe?'

   `Is it? Is it?' Calvin looked crestfallen. `Oh well, nevermind, we've got you now.'

   `I'd like to know who's got me,' said Martha.

   `Oh, the Eastern Underground, of course,' Calvindeclared. `We're the fulcrum, here in Turkey. We link theEast and the West: Germany and the Soviet states, Indiaand the sub-continent, China, Norway, all the cells. I wasin Ankara on a UNIT posting when it all fell apart. I'vebeen building it up ever since.'

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  `I see.'

  `Miss Jones, I have to ask,' said Calvin. `You mustknow. How do we do it?'

  `How do we do what?' Martha replied.

  `How do we kill a Time Lord?' he asked.

The Underground base was literally underground. Calvin'sgroup was occupying a cave system in the hills, near tothe overgrown ruins of an ancient amphitheatre.Camouflage netting disguised clusters of army tents andparked vehicles, but the bulk of the camp was out of thehard sunlight in the cool gloom of the caves.

   Walk-boards had been laid down inside the caves, andcaverns and side chambers filled with packagedequipment and resources. Lights, strung up along therough cave walls, ran from small, quiet generators, andpower plants deeper in the caves provided electricity forradio sets, a small computer suite, and other technicalassets. Martha counted over two dozen operatives in thecamp, men and women in dusty military-surplus gear.There were no children.

   `Tea?' Calvin asked, offering her a seat at his desk.`And can you believe...?' He gestured to a plate ofdigestive biscuits with such an expression of pride, itmade Martha smile.

   `So you really don't know how it can be done, MissJones?' Calvin asked.

   `I really don't. I'm sorry.'

   `Damn shame,' said Calvin, with an `oh well' shrug.

   `I've never had the opportunity to study Time Lord

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physiology,' said Martha. `I have no idea what theirweaknesses are. They certainly don't function the way wedo and, as I understand it, they can regenerate from evenmortal wounds.'

   `Yes, frightfully hard to dispose of, that's what I'dheard,' Calvin sighed.

   `But you thought I'd know how?' Martha asked.

   He nodded. `I thought that's what you were doing, MissJones. I honestly did. From the legend of Martha Jones,traversing the world and, let me tell you, it is becomingquite a legend I just assumed that you were searchingfor something that would do away with the Master. Isupposed that the Doctor had told you some secret, toldyou where to look and what to look for. I thought he'dsent you out to find a weapon.'

   `He has, but not in the way you think,' said Martha.

   `The Doctor wants the Master stopped, doesn't he?'

   `More than anything, but not by killing him. That's notthe Doctor's way.'

   Calvin raised his hands in puzzlement and said, `May Isay then, I am baffled. With respect, Miss Jones, if you'renot a clear and present threat to the Master, why is theUCF so anxious to stop you?'

   `I am a threat,' Martha insisted. `I've got a year to getthis right. One year. And if I do, I will end the Master'sreign. But I'm not an assassin, and I'm not hunting forsome mythical anti-regeneration super-weapon.'

   She paused.

   `But I suppose,' she added, `it couldn't hurt if that'swhat he thought I was doing.'

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   `Why?' asked Calvin.

   `Because that would fit with his notions of what thehuman race is,' said Martha. `He treats us with violenceand oppression because he expects us to resist withviolence. The Master has a low opinion of our species,Brigadier.'

   `That much, Miss Jones, is obvious,' remarked Calvinbitterly.

   `So, if that's what he thinks I'm doing, fine. Let himthink that. I won't contradict him, and it would help me ifthe Underground kept that rumour in circulation. Anythingto distract him from my real purpose.'

   `Oh, absolutely,' Calvin agreed. He hesitated. `Andwhat exactly is that, Miss Jones?' he asked.

They talked until nightfall. As the shadows lengthened inthe weed-choked amphitheatre, they walked outside towatch the sun set.

    `Will it work?' asked Calvin. `I mean, will that reallywork?'

    `It has to work,' Martha said. `If I didn't believe itwould, I'd have given up in despair weeks ago. TheArchangel communication system is the centrepiece of theMaster's control of Earth. It's how he conquered us, howhe really conquered us, long before the Toclafane came.It's how he made us trust him: rhythmic code, almosthypnotic, and too subtle to hear.'

    `I always did wonder how we ever came to elect thatblasted Saxon fellow,' muttered the Brigadier,unconsciously rapping his knuckles, Tap-tap-tap-tap!

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   `The Doctor's plan is to use it against him, but thatrequires vast preparation.'

   `Don't you worry, Miss Jones,' said Calvin. `TheUnderground will start recruiting as many Martha Jonesesas we can find. We'll get people on the ground, and usethe whisper channels too. We'll help spread the word, andget the world ready for the moment of truth.'

   `And tell the stories,' Martha said. `Let me brief someof your people about the sort of stories to circulate. Infact, why don't you share some of your father's talesabout the Doctor from the Seventies too?'

   The Brigadier nodded.

   `We'll tell the stories, all right. And what about you,Miss Jones?'

   `Me? I keep walking,' said Martha.

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    The bulk container ship Xin Excel docked at Yokohama

    Marine Terminal at eight in the morning, six months after

    Day Zero.

       The climbing sun had turned the uprights of the

    Yokohama Bay Bridge ice white, and the waters of the

    bay glowed gold, but a haze of smog generated by

    ceaseless industrial manufacture hung across the city

    sprawl, and stained the sky all the way to Tokyo in the

    north, Chiba in the east, and Kamakura in the south.

       Like the rest of the world, the islands of Japan had been

    enslaved and put to work.

       The piers and wharfs of Yokohama's dry cargo docks

    teamed with activity. Klaxons sounded, ship engines

    grumbled and snorted like flatulent whales, and shrill

    loading alarms rang out. Cranes and derricks swung their

    giant necks around like primordial beasts in the tobacco-

    coloured haze, and gantry portainers lumbered into

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delivery positions like catcher crabs. The port was runningat a capacity undreamed of in Pre-Day Zero days. Hootingpilot boats and tugs slipped and threaded their waybetween the moving mass of bulk shipping. Proper safetyprocedures and docking regulations had long since beenabandoned. Schedules and delivery rates were all thatmattered now.

   The Xin Excel was one of dozens of ships bringing inspecialist component products and part-assembledmaterials from what had once been the RussianFederation. Much of this cargo would pass through thespecialist factories that had sprouted up like ugly blistersaround the edges of Yokohama and Tokyo and then,completed, would be routed back to Russia and China,back to Shipyard Number One and Shipyard NumberFour, the largest in the world, where fleets of universe-conquering rockets were being constructed to aim likemissiles at the vulnerable heavens.

   The Xin Excel was also bringing one other valuablecargo to Japan. Her name was Martha Jones.

The only person on the Xin Excel who was aware thatMartha was aboard was an electrical engineer calledDmitri Korbov. Korbov was an Underground operativefrom Nakhodka who'd been crewing the run to Yokohamaand back since the shipments started, and he used hisposition to filter whisper channel communiqués in and outof the islands.

   `It's different here,' Korbov told her as the Xin Excelchugged its way into the crowded port.

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   `Different how?' Martha asked.

   `A different level of security,' he replied, `a differentfeel to things. The Underground is far less well establishedin Japan than in other parts of the world.'

   `Why?' she asked.

   Korbov shrugged.

   `Beats me,' he said. `There are groups, up in Hokkaidoand down south in Kyushu, but Central Honshu, forget it.There are contacts, a few individual operatives, butnothing organised.'

   `Because of security?'

   He shrugged again.

   They were standing at the ship's port rail, looking outacross the bustling pier. Two members of the crew strolledpast, and greeted Korbov amiably.

   `Talking to yourself again, Dimi?' one of them laughed.

   `That's right,' said Korbov.

   The crewmen looked right through Martha and carriedon along the deck.

   `All this time you've been on board,' murmuredKorbov, `it still gets me when they do that.'

   There were dull thumps and clangs from down belowas the Xin Excel settled into her berth. Gantry cranesclattered forwards to grasp the first of the containers.Debarkation/handling alarms whooped and buzzed. Therewould be no preamble or customs delay. The Xin Excelwould be unloaded immediately, almost prematurely, andthen the ship would be sent off again without a pause togather her breath.

   `You've got to remember,' said Korbov, `the plants here

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in Japan are about the most high-tech of any in theMaster's manufacturing empire. This is what I've heard.We're not talking about gross manufacture like in theshipyards, we're talking about intensive, skill-specificindustry. Word is, the Kuro and Shiro plants handle theguidance systems for the rocket fleet.'

   Korbov took a slip of paper out of his pocket.

   `Your contact's name is Sugu,' he said. `The address isa worker collective cafeteria near the old bus depot inKannai.'

   `OK,' she said, `and this Sugu will get me into thelabour camps?'

   `That's the plan. Eight hours and we'll be leavingagain. Eight hours tops. So if you need to get back to me,do it inside that time frame or I'll be long gone.'

   `Thanks for everything,' Martha said.

   `The only person who deserves any thanks is you,' saidKorbov. `Be safe, Martha Jones.'

No one saw her slip ashore. She hurried through theheaving Marine Terminal, avoiding the work gangs andthe trundling bulk loaders with their flashing amberhazard lamps. It was noisy and hectic, the perfect place forsomeone who was all but invisible anyway to disappear.

   The warm air was noxious with smog. It had a dry,petrochemical taste to it. Martha noticed that almost everyworker and guard in the terminal was wearing adisposable paper filter mask. As soon as the chancepresented itself, Martha helped herself to a mask from anopen carton inside the door of a pier office.

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   The Master watched her progress with indulgent eyes,his arms folded, his great granite bulk rising above thecity from its pedestal in Yamashita Park.

Sugu never showed. Martha never found out why. Sheloitered around the cafeteria and the adjacent, derelict busdepot for five hours. She felt exposed, even with theperception filter, and hated to have to linger in onelocation for so long. The longer she stayed, the morelikely it was that she would be noticed.

   The cafeteria was a steamy, glass-sided place that hadonce been a popular restaurant. Truck-loads of weary portworkers were shipped in from the Marine Terminal everyhalf an hour and fed miserable rations of thin gruel andclaggy noodles. UCF guards watched over them, punishedrule-breakers, and herded the workers on and off thetrucks like sheep.

   The depot was a concrete lot, overgrown with weeds.The roof had caved in, and the rusting carcasses of half adozen public buses lay rotting under the slumped canopy.The place had become the haunt of stray cats. They ran toher, mewing, or hissed at her as she wandered around theruins.

   Martha realised that the cats could see her.

   She kept moving, circling the cafeteria, never stayingin the same place for too long. She kept praying that Suguwould appear. After four hours waiting, and two heart-stopping moments when she was sure a security guard hadnoticed her, she vowed to give the contact one more hour.

   In the noonday heat, the wretched smog was at its

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worst. The sky had turned a thick, sludgy ochre colour,and everything was mired in a deep haze. The skyline wasso overcast, she couldn't see the mountains. She'd beenhoping to see the mountains, but the Master had stolen theview too.

   It got hotter. Gloomy thunder muttered in the back ofthe sky.

   Five hours were up. She was going to have to makenew plans.

Alone, tense and friendless, she moved through the streetsof Yokohama. Terrible damage had been wrought on DayZero, but Martha noticed there was no sign at all of anyToclafane. She saw a few distant groups of refugees, andfound litter-camps in backstreets and underwalks that hadbeen used by vagrant souls.

   UCF patrols rolled by with monotonous regularity.

   Her original plan had been to enter the huge labourcamps serving the Kuro and Shiro plants. She could seethe plants from the northern sectors of the city: vast domesthe colour of slate that seemed too big and improbable tohave been built in six months, let alone set to use. It wasamazing what you could accomplish when you had thewhole world at your beck and call.

   Smaller, subsidiary domes, like metal blisters,surrounded the main plants. There were four of them: Ao,Midori, Aka and Kiiro respectively, blue, green, red andyellow.

   Martha began to work out how she could get into thenearest one.

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                           * * *

Martha ducked into a doorway. It was late afternoon.Sirens had just started to scream in a street nearby. Sheheard voices raised in panic, and running footsteps. Thenshe heard gunshots.

   Ragged civilians dashed down the street past her in afrantic search for hiding places. A UCF patrol hadsurprised a sheltering vagrant group, and was rounding itsmembers up for transportation to the labour camps. Thosethat ran or resisted were being gunned down. It remindedMartha of South London in the very early days. It broughtback her oldest fears and anxieties.

   She tried the door she was cowering against, but it waslocked. Just stay in the doorway, she told herself. Just stayin the shadows. They can't see you.

   An old man staggered past her doorway, helped alongby a teenage boy. Martha winced and looked away as aburst of automatic gunfire cut them down.

   Boots crunched closer. Two UCF guards ran past,chasing down the other fugitives. A third stopped to checkthe bodies of the old man and the teenager.

   Stay still. Just stay still. He can't see you.

   The guard rose to his feet. He was Japanese. His leanbody was packed into black fatigues. His assault rifle wascinched against his chest. He stared into the shadows ofthe doorway. He stared directly at Martha.

   He raised his weapon and aimed it at her.

   `Out!' he ordered.

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The perception filter wasn't working.

Martha wasn't hidden at all.

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    Along with forty other outcasts and refugees, many of

    them weeping and sobbing, Martha was brought into the

    Aka Labour Camp just before dark. Martha did not cry.

       Black-painted lorries carried them in through the

    electric chain-link fences, past turrets and elevated guard

    posts. Inner gates opened and closed as they entered the

    camp dome. The lorries drew up in a dank concrete bay.

       The captives were ordered off the lorries at gun-point,

    and sent, single file, through processing. Martha expected

    to be identified at every step. Martha Jones. Martha

    Jones. The infamous Martha Jones.

       But she wasn't thumb- or retina-printed, or

    photographed, or even asked to give her name. No one

    was. Grimly, she realised that they weren't really being

    regarded as human at all. They were all just slaves, fodder,

    fresh blood to keep the engines of industry turning.

       The guards took her backpack. She never saw it or its

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contents again. There hadn't been much in it, mostly hertools of survival like binoculars, matches and her dogwhistle, but in its side pockets, there had been a fewirreplaceable keepsakes of her walk: a Polaroid of herwith Mathieu and Yves at Surcourt; a Saint Christophermedal she'd been given by a woman in Ljubljana, whomMartha knew had later died so that Martha could live; alittle silver Islamic pendant that Korbov had fancied sheshould take with her; a ridiculous lucky rabbit's footBrigadier Calvin had insisted on pressing into her hand asthey'd said goodbye at another Cursus Hill, telling her,`My father gave it to me'; and a small plastic badge thatread `Hooray! I am Nine!'

    Ironically, the guards didn't take the key pendant fromaround her neck, or Jack's vortex manipulator strapped inits leather case around her wrist. The manipulator onlyworked if the Doctor activated it, and it was painfullyevident that the key had stopped performing the wondersit had been built to perform.

    She was issued with a stale bedroll, a dirty food pail, acolour-coded wristband to denote her work and sleepstations, and a slip of paper printed in eight languages thatexplained her duties and shifts.

Aka Labour Camp was a huge, high-rise dormitory underthe main dome. There were municipal shower blocks atground level, and above those rose open-grilled,scaffolding decks of tightly packed cages containing metalcots. There was no privacy. Thousands of men and womenwere packed into the cage city, looking up and down and

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sideways into one another's miserably confined lives.Sunlight shafted in through the camp dome, tinted into agrey twilight.

   Martha's wristband told her she was aka/ao/ten/fifteen.Red camp, blue sector, tenth level, bunk fifteen.

   It took her half an hour to find her place and lay out herbed roll. It was weird and uncomfortable. After six monthsof invisibility, everyone could see her and, as a young,black woman in a predominately Japanese slave force, shereally stood out.

   She'd barely got into her bunk when hooters soundedand electric cage gates crashed open.

   `Work shift gamma!' the speakers boomed.

   She checked her slip. She was work shift gamma. Shegot up, and followed the others as they filed out.

They were led, in procession, through to Shiro, one of thegigantic plant domes.

   Martha looked in awe at the serried decks of heavymanufacture; entire work lines stacked one on top ofanother, with thousands of workers toiling at fabricationon every level.

   She was given her place on deck nineteen. The womanshe was taking over from was almost dead withexhaustion.

   Martha studied the paper slip. The work was simpleenough. As a conveyor belt brought the circuit boards pasther, she had to solder two chips into place. She hadn'tcounted on the speed of the belt. A guard snarled at her forbeing slow and delaying production. Her hands began to

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ache from repetition. Ftzz! Ftzz! next one... Ftzz! Ftzz!next one...

    She contemplated fusing the chips into the wrong slotsuntil she saw a man dragged off the line two decks downand summarily executed for `crimes of sabotage'.

    Ftzz! Ftzz! next one... Ftzz! Ftzz! next one...

    When her shift ended, Martha was numb with fatigue.Her hands were bloody and scarred from slips and solderburns. Replacement workers were led in, and the guardsfiled her shift back to Aka camp. She had no idea howlong they'd been working for. They were given plasticbottles of water, and noodle soup was ladled into theirfood pails.

    She returned to her cot on aka/ao/ten/fifteen. The bunkto her right was occupied by a middle-aged Japanesewoman, who was weeping over a lost son. In the bunk toher left was a young man who was so tired he wasshivering.

    `We're going to die,' he kept mumbling. `We're allgoing to die.'

    Martha wanted to reassure him, speak to him. Sheknew she should be telling one of her stories to rally thespirits of the people around her. Though a captive, sheknew she should be getting on with her work, but she wastoo tired.

    Fatigue, rather than sleep, swept over her and carriedher away.

The next day, and the ones that followed, were all exactlylike the first. Martha's production-line skills improved,

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and she kept her rate up, but every end-shift, she was tootired to talk.

    `Where are you from?' the young man in the cot to herleft kept asking her.

    `Everywhere,' she murmured. `Let me sleep.'

    Her hands were sore and scabbed with burns. Therewas no sense of day or night. The accumulated smell inthe camp was dire. Quite apart from the pitifully poorwaste systems, people were regularly dying of exhaustionand malnutrition, and the guards took their time botheringto remove the bodies.

    Half-awake, Martha wondered why her perceptionfilter had failed. Had it just worn out?

Every now and then, the hooters would sound as freshslaves were brought into Aka Camp. Three days afterMartha was brought in, a new slave group was goingthrough processing.

   `There's been a mistake,' a big Caucasian was tellingthe guards. `Look at my creds. Look at them!'

   `No mistake,' the guards said.

   `For God's sake!' the man yelled.

   The guards pointed their weapons at him.

A week had passed. Martha had almost forgotten whatproper sunlight looked like. She'd become an automaton.She was very good at her job. Two jabs of the solder,move it on, two jabs of the solder, move it on...

   `Will we ever see the sky again?' asked the young manin the bunk to her left. Martha had established his name

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was Hito.

   `Yes,' she nodded, wanting to sleep.

   `Will we?' questioned the middle-aged woman in thebunk to her right. The middle-aged woman's name wasTokami.

   Martha sighed. She had no strength left, but shesummoned something from somewhere.

   `Hito?'

   `Yes?'

   `Call everyone in, everyone from the nearby bunks,everyone who's awake. I've got a story for them.'

   `A story?' asked Tokami through the grille.

   `I can only tell it once, I'm so tired, but it is a goodstory.'

   Hito gathered about thirty people around Martha's cell.She sat up, weary to the bone, and began.

   `Listen to me carefully. I don't know how much longerI can keep doing this, but it's important...'

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                 The Frozen WastesWhen Martha Jones was four years old, she broke herarm. She'd been playing in the park with her brother,riding the swings a little too enthusiastically. She flew offthe seat, and for one moment she was actually airborne, itcould only have been a split second, and Martha loved it,she was going up and up like an astronaut and then therewas gravity and the ground and dirt and a sharp crack.

   `It's not my fault,' said Leo, `she kept asking me topush her harder.' And then he burst into tears.

   Martha supposed she really ought to be crying too after all, she was the one who was actually in pain. Butshe was being driven to hospital, it was an adventure, andthe whole thing was rather too exciting for tears.

   `Nothing to worry about,' said the doctor, `it's a cleanbreak, look.' And he showed the Jones family the X-rays.

   Martha asked if that was really her arm, it looked sostrange and ghostly.

   `That's what it's like underneath,' explained the doctor,and smiled at her.

   Underneath. It was like a secret world, somethingwhich had been hidden from her until that moment.

   The doctor told her the arm would have to be put in acast for a while, `just to give the bones time to knit backtogether.'

   `You mean,' asked Martha, a little breathless, `that myarm is going to fix itself?'

   The doctor nodded. `You'll be as right as rain,' he told

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her. `You're such a brave little girl.'

   Martha wanted to tell him that it wasn't bravery at all,it was curiosity but the doctor had been so nice, shedidn't want to seem rude.

   `I'm going to be a doctor when I grow up,' Martha toldher parents that evening over dinner. They smiled andnodded and didn't pay that much attention. They were justrelieved her ordeal hadn't upset her too much.

   But she didn't change her mind. For Christmas thatyear she was given a toy stethoscope: it came in a plasticbox, and on the cover there was a picture of a little boytrying very hard to look medical. Martha was disappointedthat the stethoscope didn't actually work. The nurse outfither dad gave her was much more practical, and had a girlon the box instead, but Martha found that far lessinteresting. And books! so many books, all about howthe body worked, what the heart did, the lungs, the bloodcells. By the time she was a teenager, and all her schoolfriends had pictures of George Michael on their bedroomwalls, Martha instead displayed posters of the humanskeleton, each bone arrowed and named. Her motherthought it was all a bit grisly, but it was at least better thanwhat Leo was hanging in his room he was going throughan Iron Maiden phase.

   And each night, with the skeleton gazing down at her,surrounded by increasingly complex books aboutanatomy, Martha would dream. She would dream aboutthe doctor she would become.

No two children in the world dream the same dream.

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Adults do. They get lost in nightmares about mortgagesand internet shopping and having to make speeches inpublic. But children don't yet believe the lie that there arelimits to the imagination, and so when they close theireyes at night there are as many adventures as there arechildren thinking them. Take the case of Pierre Bruyère,for example. In 1868, as a 6-year-old boy, living in asuburb of Paris, he began to dream of white. And oncehe'd started, he never stopped. Each time he fell asleep thewhite would be there, waiting for him. He didn't knowthis was unusual, only that it was sometimes so bright andunforgiving that he'd wake with a headache.

   His parents weren't complex people; they had a littlebakery, all they ever dreamed of was croissants and buns.`Maybe you're colour blind or something,' said his father.`Maybe you're just seeing black as white. I don't know.'

   Pierre told him that it wasn't just white it wasdifferent shades sometimes, and once in a while it hadcracks in. The father had nothing to say to that. Instead hetook him to a doctor.

   The doctor had heard there was some talk on thecontinent, in places where doctors could afford to worryabout such things, that the dreams of a patient might havesignificance. But this doctor was a gruff sort of man, andtold Pierre that dreams were just dreams and there wasnothing to be done about them. `They'll go away,' he said,`or they won't.'

   And Pierre told him he didn't want them to go away. `Ilike the white,' he whispered in confidence. `It'smysterious.'

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   When Pierre was fifteen, an exhibition came to Paris,and his family made a rare journey into the city to see it.Expeditions into the Arctic had been inconclusive at best;the North Pole had never been reached, and yet it stillfascinated people it seemed to Monsieur Bruyère thatthe entire population of France had crowded into the hallto see the photographs.

   `It looks very cold,' said Pierre's mother, ratherobviously, `not very nice at all!'

   Pierre looked from picture to picture, at the desolation,at the swatches of snow and ice relieved every now andthen by glimpses of the ocean breaking through the cracksbetween. He could hardly take his eyes off them, and onlymoved along when an impatient crowd pushed him aside.

   `That's what I've been dreaming,' he told his parents.

   `You've been dreaming of these pictures?'

   `Not the pictures,' said Pierre irritably. `The place.That's what I see when I close my eyes. I'm going to bean Arctic explorer.'

   His mother pointed out gently that Arctic explorationwas a dangerous career move, wouldn't he be better offbaking bread instead? But Pierre was adamant.

   As the years went by, it seemed to Pierre that everyonein the world was trying to make it to the North Pole beforehim. They'd make attempts by boats (which sank), by foot(which frostbit), they'd even come up with new-fangledinventions called skis. And every time they failed, Pierrecouldn't help but feel relieved. The conquest of the Polewas to be his achievement; he knew it was what he wasborn for. He felt terribly guilty for a while whenever he

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delighted in the news of another disaster in the Arctic, ofthe men who'd perished. And then he forgot to feel guiltany more. He had no room in his brain for such stuff hehad his own schemes to work on. In 1890, he at lastaddressed a party at the International GeographicalCongress in London. He wasn't used to talking in public he'd been a boy who'd cut himself off from friends andas a result, he couldn't help but shake as he spoke to thecommittee.

   `Balloon,' he said. `I'm going to conquer the NorthPole by balloon.'

   The room was stuffy, and the speakers tedious. In spiteof her best efforts, Martha kept on dozing off. The Doctornudged her. `This is what we came for,' he whispered.

`They don't even have penguins in the Arctic,' said theDoctor.

    There was a crowd to see them off, and stalls for thetourists, selling all kinds of merchandise. There wasalways a buzz about attempts on the North Pole, and thepapers in London spoke of the Arctic season the same waythey'd chatter about the Henley regatta. But there waseven greater excitement about Bruyère's balloon. Shipsare all very well and good and have an undeniable majestyabout them, but there's nothing as pretty as a balloon,straining against the ropes and the wind for its launch,looking for all the world like an enormous children's toy.`It's huge,' Martha had said to the Doctor when she firstsaw it. A ball of pongee silk, the lightest and most resilientmaterial available, it towered above her. Now as she stood

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in the basket it didn't seem quite so big.

    And suddenly they were free. The balloon rose into theair and it didn't feel to Martha as if they were the onesmoving at all. Instead the ground was sucked away frombeneath her, the banners wishing them safe voyage, thepeople waving and cheering and holding up their flags andtheir rubber icebergs and even yes their clockworkpenguins. Martha couldn't believe the Doctor was stillgoing on about them. `Penguins is the Antarctic,' said theDoctor. `They've got the wrong Pole.'

    `Listen,' the Doctor had said to Martha, and so she hadlistened. Pierre Bruyère spoke to the GeographicalCongress, and as he warmed to his subject he forgot to benervous. He explained how a balloon could cover in a fewdays distances it would take them months with their dogsand sleds. He wasn't wringing his hands any longer, nowhe was punching the air with his fist every time he made apoint.

    `He sounds convincing enough,' Martha had said, alittle cautiously.

    `Oh, he's brilliant,' said the Doctor. `You've got to beimpressed by the sheer ingenuity of it all. All these peopletrying to explore the Arctic, this man comes at theproblemsideways on. I love sideways on. There's reallyonly one problem. Well, one big problem. Lots of littleproblems, there are tons of those, of course.'

    `What are the little problems?'

    `Right. Well, for a start, you can't steer a balloon. Imean, you can do a bit with drag ropes, drop them overthe side you get pulled in that direction, but against the

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Arctic winds? I don't think so, do you? Then there's thegas. At that temperature, you're at the mercy of the sun.When the sun shines, the hydrogen expands, the balloonrises. When it hits a cloud, uh-oh, down you go. And thenthere's the balloon itself. Cos that's made up of thousandsand thousands of silk sheets, all stitched together. Each ofthe little stitch holes, that's something the gas can leakthrough, and it will.'

   `They don't sound like little problems.'

   `Nah,' said the Doctor, `they're pretty small, really.'

   `Your tried and tested methods,' Pierre went on,`they've failed. How many more men will you allow todie? Whereas in a balloon all that's being risked is my life.Mine, and the two crew members I shall need. It's thecheapest, safest means to victory. If I die,' and heshrugged, `at least it won't be for lack of effort. At least Iwon't spend my days in a baker's shop, denying mydreams.'

   There was silence to that. Martha took advantage of itto whisper to the Doctor. `OK, so what's the bigproblem?'

   `Well,' said the Doctor. `He fails. April 1890, he takesoff with his crew, he's never heard of again.'

   `But, Doctor,' said Martha. `It's June 1890.'

   `Yeah,' said the Doctor. `Odd, isn't it? We're looking ata dead man. He just doesn't seem to know it.'

   And for a dead man, Pierre Bruyère seemed veryanimated. `Gentlemen, you misunderstand me,' he said atlast, in exasperation. `I am not asking your permission. Iam stating my intent. I have already secured funds. I have

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already found my crew. And we are setting off for the Poleas soon as it is propitious. Good day.'

   Martha looked at the Doctor. He gave her a grin.`Yeah,' he said, `I know, I know. But you've got to admiresideways.'

Afterwards the Doctor introduced Martha to Pierre. Heshook her hand formally. `I hope we have no need of yourmedical skills,' he told her solemnly, `but we have no ideawhat new illnesses might be waiting for us in such analien place.' Martha was surprised he didn't commentupon her being a woman. He tutted with impatience. `It'sof no interest whatsoever. If you can do your job, that isenough. We are going to the North Pole, Doctor Jones. Ido trust that we will find there more remarkable causes forcomment than your gender or the colour of your skin.'

   `I don't like him,' Martha said to the Doctor.

   `Not the warmest of individuals,' agreed the Doctor.`Still, I suppose that makes sense where we're going.'

   Bruyère hadn't spoken since the balloon had taken off;he'd spent the last three hours making entries in hisjournal. It would be the record of all their discoveries. Itwas more important, he explained, than any singlemember of the crew. Their bodies might fail on theirarduous expedition, but so long as it was properly logged,they would live for ever. At last he laid down his pen. `It'stime we ate,' he said.

   Open flames weren't allowed in the basket, not withinflammable hydrogen mere feet above. Instead Bruyèrehad dangled a little stove some thirty feet below the

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basket, which could be ignited or doused by remotecontrol. There was even a mirror set at an angle, so that ifyou peered over the side you could see whether the eggswere done yet.

    `I told you,' said the Doctor. `Brilliant.'

    Bruyère served up their meals, and they tucked in.

    `Gentlemen,' said Pierre at last. `We are the lucky ones.I am quite certain that the North Pole will be discovered,with or without our efforts. In ten years, maybe, everysingle place on the Earth will have been mapped, there'llbe no need for explorers any more. And Man will have toturn to the skies, and stare at the planets if they want tosee anything new. We are privileged. We have been bornat the right time, we can still be the first.'

    Martha had never seen Pierre smile before, but hesuddenly did, and it took years off him. Even with hisbeard, his greying hair, he looked for all the world like alittle boy on Christmas morning.

    `We're on our way,' he told them. And hugged themboth.

Looking back, Martha thought that was the best momentof the expedition, the time that they came together as ateam. They sang songs the Doctor fumbling his waythrough a Beatles classic, Pierre something very gentle inFrench that the TARDIS had the sensitivity notto translate. They all peered over the side of the balloon atthe sea of ice beneath them, Martha marvelling at how thewind would blow wisps of snow across the surface andmake it look like something fluid. Pierre checked his

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sextant, and announced that in twelve hours' travel theyhad come further than Nansen's expedition had managedin two whole months. And they all cheered at that, and theDoctor poured them all coffee, and they toasted eachother. Pierre sucked on his pipe `I can't light it,' he said,`but I can pretend all the same.'

   They set up a sleep rota. It was Martha's turn first. Shedidn't think she'd be able to get even a wink with theexcitement and the brightness of the snow, but shepropped herself up against the side of the basket anyway,closed her eyes, and didn't even remember nodding off.

   And Martha dreamed that she was going to be a doctor,that was what she wanted most in the world. And no onecould stop her, not the girls in the playground, not Leowith his teasing. She'd look at that poster of the humanskeleton on her bedroom wall before she turned the lightsout, she'd study it so hard that every night she'd dream thenames of bones. Hang on, thought Martha to herself, Idon't need to dream this any more, I am a doctor! butshe looked down at her hands and they were so verysmall, and she was so very young, those ambitions of herswere a world away, how would she ever achieve them?And then, suddenly, she was at her exam, the teacherasking her questions and grading her responses. I'm notold enough for this yet, said Martha, and the examiner justsmiled. `Tell me all about the bones, Martha, tell me yourhopes and dreams.' So she did, patella, tibia, fibula...`More,' said the teacher, clavicle, scapula, humerus, andthe teacher put back her head and purred, which Marthathought a very odd thing for a teacher to do. Ulna, radius,

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`It's so cold out here, Martha, and I must feast to keepwarm,' sacrum, coccyx, and the teacher tilted her headtowards her, opened her eyes wide, and Martha could seethey were just shards of ice, glacial like the sea beneaththe balloon...

    The balloon. The Doctor was shaking her. `Martha,wake up. We've got a problem.' And he didn't pause, hewas back to a whirlwind of activity, racing around thebasket, grabbing hold of whatever he could, throwing itover the side. Martha squinted through the brightness ofthe sun, and saw that Pierre was doing the same thing.

    `We're still losing height!' cried Pierre. Marthastruggled to her feet but it was difficult to find her balance she could feel now that the balloon was giving waybeneath her, she was being pulled downwards fast. Shescrabbled about, her hands found the saucepan in whichthey'd boiled the water for coffee. As she pitched itoverboard she was able to see the ground rushing up tomeet them. It was impossible to say how close it was, thevast shadow of the balloon stretched out before them likea black smudge on the snow.

    `What happened?' she shouted.

    `We've jettisoned all the inessentials!' Pierre called outover the wind of their descent. `What do we do now?'

    `Lose the essentials,' said the Doctor. He took hold of afood hamper, strained under the weight. `Help me,' hecried, and Martha took the other side. Togetherthey staggered with it to the edge of the basket, sounsteady on their feet it looked like they were performinga bizarre dance and then, `Now!' said the Doctor, and

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with a heave, they threw it over.

    `Not our food!' Pierre looked ashen. `No!' He grabbedhold of the second hamper, pulling it away from theDoctor.

    `Do you feel that?' said the Doctor. `Do you feel what'shappening?' And Martha could see what he meant, the rateof descent had slowed. `It wants us to get rid of our food.'

    `The only force here is gravity.'

    `Not that force. The force that's keeping us aloft. Weshould have crashed on the ice already.'

    The bottom of the basket hit a spike of ice, chippingsnow over them all. The force knocked them off their feet,the balloon bounced upwards off the impact. `Next timewe'll tip over,' said the Doctor. `We've no choice.' Andthey took the remaining hampers, all three of them, andheaved them away.

    In that instant the balloon stopped struggling. As ifthey'd just flicked a switch and turned the crisis off. Oh,the balloon seemed to say, you want me to go up? Nothingto it! And with a nonchalance that almost made Marthalaugh, calmly, lazily, it began to rise once more into theair. They gained height quickly Martha watched all theprovisions dwindle to the size of ants against the snow,then disappear completely.

    `We're alive,' she said. It was obvious. But it needed tobe said.

    `Whatever this thing is,' said the Doctor, `it wants usentirely at its mercy.' He stared at the polar wastes aheadof them.

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One day Pierre looked up from his sextant, cleared histhroat formally, and announced that he thought they mustnearly be there. `Below us, gentlemen, is the North Pole.'

   Martha couldn't help herself, she looked over the sideof the basket. It was a pointless thing to do, and she knewit was pointless. Nothing but white below them, whiteabove them, nothing but white all around. Nothing butwhite for weeks.

   `What do you think, Doctor?' asked Pierre. But theDoctor hadn't spoken for a long time.

   At first the Doctor had been characteristicallyexuberant. `We have to stay alive,' he told them, `that'swhat matters. Gather everything which we can throwoverboard, just in case we need ballast again.' Marthaeven thought he was enjoying himself as he arranged theheaviest items around the perimeter for easy access.Sledges, scientific instruments. `We've got to be preparedto junk the lot,' said the Doctor. He took hold of Pierre'sjournal, but the explorer snatched it back. `Not that,' saidPierre, and for a moment it looked as if the Doctor wouldargue, but then he nodded, let go. `No,' he agreed. `Allright. Not that.'

   They made sure they kept warm, and took regular turnsto sleep and keep watch. Not that there was anything towatch. After a few hours Martha found the stark blanknessall around her almost blinding. There was no food, ofcourse, and the Doctor told them they'd have to cope asbest they could. That day Martha hadn't felt hungryanyway, she supposed she was too scared. And after acouple more days she stopped questioning it, and by the

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end of that first week she'd even forgotten she should behungry. Once in a while her thoughts would drift, andshe'd wonder about it wasn't there something she shouldbe doing with food, she'd think dreamily, shouldn't she beeating it, something like that then with a jolt she'drealise she should be starving. No, really, literallystarving. And then she'd feel dozy again, and the voice inher head would tell her not to worry about it. OK, she'dtell the voice, and give in to sleep I'm sure if anythingwere wrong, the Doctor would take care of it.

    Sometimes Martha's dreams would be peaceful. Shewouldn't remember what they'd been when she woke up,but they'd been all hers and nobody else's. But more oftenthan not they'd get interrupted by that woman examiner.`Never mind that holiday in Bermuda,' she'd say, `nevermind that Christmas when you were seven, never mindthat date with Leonardo DiCaprio. Tell me about thebones, Martha. It's so very cold, I must feast. Tell me allabout the bones, and why you love them so much.'

    When they'd run out of songs, the crew began to sharedreams. Martha told the Doctor and Pierre how she hadalways wanted to study medicine. And Pierre told themhis dreams of white.

    The Doctor hadn't paid much attention to anything inweeks, Martha had been getting very worried but at thishe showed a sudden interest. `Nothing but white, really?'

    `But out here,' said Pierre, `amongst the white...sometimes I now dream of other things.'

    `What other things?'

    `Just other things,' Pierre would shrug. `Just not white.

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As if I've been set free. It's a relief.'

   Pierre wouldn't say much any more either, he liked tosleep as long as possible. He'd do so with a grin across hisface, and look so at peace that Martha would feel envious.And when he was awake he'd be scribbling in his journal.Martha couldn't see why. Nothing was happening for himto write about. But he'd write anyway, one arm hiding itfrom view, as if he didn't want anyone to copy hishomework.

   `What do you dream of, Doctor?' asked Martha.

   `I don't dream,' he said shortly.

   But one time, when Pierre was asleep, he told Martha.

   `On old maps you'll find the words "Here BeDragons". It doesn't mean there really were dragons, ofcourse. Only that there were places no one had ever been.They didn't know what they'd find, there could beanything. Explorers like Pierre, they don't think that'sgood enough. They keep pushing against the limits ofwhat they know, they refuse ever to sit back and say, that'senough. They won't give in to the dragons. But,' he said,`what if, when you get out there, into the unknown... youfind there are dragons waiting after all?'

   One day Pierre looked up from his sextant, and saidthat they must nearly be there. `Below us, gentlemen, isthe North Pole. What do you think, Doctor?' But theDoctor just looked at him grimly.

   `How can you tell?' asked Martha. `We can't even seeland.'

   `We've been travelling at a steady rate of twentyknots these past two months. Always on the same course,

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the winds have been constant.'

    `Wait a moment,' said Martha. `These past months?How long do you think we've been travelling for?'

    Pierre frowned. `Four, maybe five months. What's yourestimate?'

    Martha felt like laughing. `That's ridiculous. It can't bemore than a fortnight.'

    `What do you think, Doctor?' asked Pierre again.

    Martha looked at her old friend. `Yes, Doctor, how longhave we been doing this?'

    The Doctor licked his lips. Spoke quietly. `It's beenyears. Years and years, I lost count. So many... I've triedto shield you from the worst of it, took so muchconcentration. I'm sorry.'

    His companions looked dumbly at him.

    `Entire lifetimes, crouching here in a basket. And yet,'he said, and took out his sonic screwdriver. Martha hadnever been so pleased to see something so safe, sofamiliar. The Doctor pointed it over the side of theballoon, aimed downwards. A blue light pierced throughthe white, it lost none of its intensity as it burned everdownwards, illuminating the way. And hundreds of feetbelow them... shapes to make out... yes! Martha couldsee the snow. And the ice. And the hampers of food theyhad jettisoned.

    `And yet,' continued the Doctor, `it's been no time atall.'

    `They're not even frozen over,' said Pierre, hushed.`They'd have frozen over in minutes.' He looked up at theDoctor, and his face was suddenly livid, and Martha

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thought he might actually hit him. `It's impossible! That'sthe North Pole below us! It has to be. And I shall write asmuch in my journal!'

    `Your journal is nothing but lies.' But Pierre stompedover to the book anyway, sat down, and picked up his pen.

    `What is it, Doctor?' asked Martha.

    `It distorts time,' said the Doctor. `Running the sameseconds back over and over. We're literally frozen inthem. The perfect larder. Where the meat stays fresh andnever runs out.'

    Pierre couldn't speak. He tried, but the words justdidn't come out, his mouth opening and closing like agoldfish. So he had to pass his journal to the Doctordumbly. The Doctor looked inside. All the pages werefilled. They'd been filled many times over, one diary entryover another over another, until all the words wereillegible, a mess of black ink.

    `I don't think this is your first expedition to the NorthPole,' said the Doctor. He handed the journal back toPierre, who dropped it listlessly to the floor. `Let's findout.' He raised the sonic screwdriver high and, as hepushed down just once, there was the smallest of beeps and the giant gas balloon above them popped open. Therewas a whoosh of hydrogen into the arctic sky, so densethat Martha could actually see it, and then the silk coversthat had kept them afloat fell away and were lost in thewhite. Martha steeled herself for the fall, the inevitablecrash upon the ice below but, ridiculously, they justhung there in mid-air. She looked down, but the groundjust sat there, out of reach,stubbornly refusing to obey the

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laws of physics. And then she looked up.

    She'd not been able to look upwards for so long. Theballoon had been her sky, it had blocked out everythingelse above them. And now she could do nothing but gawp.The Doctor and Pierre were already doing the same.

    They were not alone.

    Balloons. At first Martha thought there was a dozen ofthem, and that was impossible enough but then she sawthere was a layer above that, and the layers kept going onand on there were hundreds of balloons, maybethousands, a whole flotilla of them blotting out the sky.And that wasn't the strangest thing of all.

    `They're my balloon,' said Pierre. `The same insignia,the same design...' And there he stopped, because hedidn't dare carry on, he knew if he said it aloud his mindmight crack but the same Pierre too, standing at theedge of each basket, flanked always by two differentcrewmembers.

    `What did I do?' he heard himself ask.

    `What's been done to you,' corrected the Doctor. `It'scaught you in a loop. Each time you set out withcompanions, and each time it sends you back to thebeginning for new ones. The same polar expedition overand over, always doomed to failure.'

    `But why?' asked Martha. `What possible reason couldit have to do that?'

    `All it can do is eat,' said the Doctor. `That's all. And soit's everything humanity isn't. Because you all haveaspirations, desires, the urge to reach out and besomething greater than you are. And that's what it feeds

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on. Human ambition. The very thing that makes you thinkor feel. It's obscene.' He turned to Pierre. `It's reached intoyour very dreams, made you want to be an explorer, madeyou hunger to come here again and again.'

   Pierre's face was an agony. `Are you saying that all thatdesire I had to explore... to add to the sum of humanknowledge... it wasn't even mine in the first place?'

   The Doctor said nothing, because he had no answer togive.

   Pierre wobbled on his feet, he looked as if he mightfaint, he grabbed hold of the edge of the basket to steadyhimself. And then he gripped it harder, his knuckles flared,and he shouted out into the frozen wastes.

   `I wanted to be somebody special...' The ice bit at hisface and made his eyes water. `Come to me,' he said.`Come to me right now, and tell me I'm not to my face.'

   The Pierre Bruyère in the balloon above tilted its headin what looked like consideration. Then it shrugged. It satitself upon the edge of the basket, and swinging its legsover the side, lowered itself down. Soon it was hangingthere only by his fingernails, some nine metres above thereal Pierre Bruyère's head. It looked downwards, seemedto tut in irritation to see how far it still had to go. And thenthe fingernails grew, they stretched out like elastic, only itwasn't elastic, it was ice, they'd become ten long iciclesand Pierre was dropping gently into the basket besidethem.

   `How much of me is really me?' one Pierre asked theother bravely. `Could I ever have been a great man at all?'His counterpart was speckled with frost like icing sugar,

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his hair frozen to his head, his teeth chattering, his eyeshard flint. `I'm so cold,' this Pierre said, almostapologetically, and with something like tendernessbrought his hands up to the other's cheeks, and drained thelife out of him.

    `My turn, I think,' said the Doctor. And the PierreBruyère monster turned away from the frozen corpse hehad created.

    `I've felt you buzzing away around my dreams. Youwant to know what's inside, don't you? You want to knowmy hopes and desires, where I've explored.' He steppedcloser; the ice cold of Pierre's face didn't even changeexpression. `I've navigated the North West Passage,stepped on the moon, been to Mars, Venus, planets you'llneed three tongues to pronounce. I've sipped tea on therim of burning constellations that were lost millennia ago.And I'm not done yet. I'm not done yet. So, if you want tofeast, you'd better be hungry.' And he didn't wait, hegrabbed hold of Pierre's hands, drove them into hischeeks, and held tight.

    The white darkened. Turned red. Turned purple like abruise. `Can you feel it?' gasped the Doctor. `All thosedreams you'll never know. That you'll never understand.'And he cried out. `Martha, I made a mistake. I thought Icould weaken it, could fill it to bursting. But it's so cold,and it's so hungry.'

    And Martha didn't hesitate, she put her own handsupon the Doctor's cheeks too. She felt how cold theywere, and she was so warm against them, and she pushedharder until she could feel she'd reached the Doctor's

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warmth too, she knew it must be deep inside somewhere.

   `And I've been to the moon too,' she spat in Pierre'sface. `I've not sipped tea at half so many constellations,but I've sipped at a good few. But that was never mydream. I'm not an explorer. I just wanted to put peopleback together again.'

   There they stood, the Doctor and Martha, claspedtogether, embracing the monster. And with a dull crump,the sound of a footfall in heavy snow, time unfroze, flungbackwards, and the wounded sky burst like a berry.

And one day Martha did visit the North Pole.

    `We never did get there, did we?' asked the Doctor.`What with everything else going on. Well, soon fix that!'He set the controls, gave the pump a particularly vigorousworkout, and a minute later he opened the doors. `Bitparky out there,' he said. `Won't stay for long.'

    Martha stepped out into the snow. She hugged herselfagainst the cold. She looked at the white, stretching out inall directions.

    `It's just a place,' she said at last.

    `Just a place,' the Doctor agreed. `Sometimes thedestination isn't half as interesting as the ambition to getthere.' He pointed at where she'd left footprints. `Look atthat. It's 1890, give or take a year or two. You're the firstperson to have stood at the North Pole. Martha Jones,pioneer!'

    She laughed.

    `Come on,' he said. And before they left, he smearedaway their prints carefully. `Don't want to spoil it for

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anyone else. Let's go and get something to warm us up.'

   He took the TARDIS to exactly the same place, a meretwo hundred years later. The North Pole Experience wasan interactive museum, with exhibits that the childrencould play with, and a gift shop filled with `I've Been tothe North Pole' T-shirts and clockwork penguins.

   `Still don't have penguins in the Arctic,' said theDoctor.

   He bought them both overpriced coffees in the café,found them a nice table in the observation lounge, andthey looked out the plastic windows at what had been themost isolated place in the world.

   And he told her what he dreamed. How, on his planet,the maps never said `Here Be Dragons'. Because hispeople had explored the universe, they'd been everywhereand everywhen. At one moment there they'd been,charting the stars, and the next, it was all over. That wastime travel for you. When he'd been a child, the Doctorhad wanted to be an explorer. But there was nowhere leftto discover. They told him he shouldn't leave home, whatwas the point? But he'd found a point. He'd found a point.And whenever he forgot it, he'd close his eyes, he'ddream again, and there it would be.

Pierre Bruyère never got to visit the North Pole, of course.When he was 6 years old he complained to his parents, `Inever dream of anything. When I sleep, nothing happens.'Everybody else dreamed, what was wrong with him?

   His parents took him to a doctor. `Dreams are anuisance,' he was told gruffly. `You're better off without

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them.' Privately the doctor was annoyed that he'd beenbothered by something so trivial. He's the son of a baker,he told himself. What great things was he ever going todream about?

    So Pierre worked in his parents' shop. He never smiled.

    `Put a bit of love into it,' his mother advised himgently, `that's what I do.'

    But Pierre couldn't see what there was to love aboutcroissants and baguettes and Belgian buns that wouldnever even see Belgium, they'd never explore as far aseven that.

    One day Pierre made a pastry. He sprinkled on the icingsugar. He looked it over. Needs more sugar, he said tohimself. He poured on another layer, then another. Thelittle flecks of white covered the bread, covered thecounter, his hands were speckled with white. After he'dused three entire bags of icing sugar, and drowned thepastry completely, he wondered why he'd done that.

    But that night he began to dream again. Just flashes ofwhite, little glimpses of it, and what he could be. And hebegan to smile at work, to look forward to the rest at day'send. Once in a while he'd feel inspired to cover pastries sothick with cream you'd think that it had been snowing.And sometimes he'd make buns in the shape of balloons,so light and fluffy you could almost have sworn theycould rise up to float in the air.

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    Her      nerves were frayed and her exhaustion was

    fathomless, but Martha was quietly pleased to discover

    that her story had hit a nerve.

       `They all want another, tonight,' Hito told her through

    the mesh.

       `I don't know, Hito...'

       `Oh, please, Martha.'

       `I'm so tired,' Martha groaned.

       `We're all tired,' said Tokami.

       `Your story's already spreading though Aka,' said Hito.

       `All right, all right,' Martha said, sitting up on her

    bunk. `I'll tell another story tonight, but you have to

    promise me you'll bring workers in from other sections. I

    need to get the stories to spread and sink in, you

    understand?'

       `Yes, Martha,' said Hito.

       Martha lay back on her metal cot again, hoping to grab

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another half-hour's sleep. She realised there was someonestanding in the doorway of her cage. She looked up.

   A big man with a scarred face was looking down at herfrom the doorway. It was the same scar-faced man whohad chased her across Europe and the Middle East.

   Martha gasped and scrambled back into the corner ofher cage.

   `Martha? What's the matter?' asked Tokami through thecage wall.

   `It's him. It's him!' Martha hissed.

   `Hello, Martha Jones,' said Griffin. `We meet at last.'

   Griffin sniffed, folded his arms, and leaned casuallyagainst the door frame.

   Martha didn't move.

   `I heard you were here, so I thought I'd introducemyself,' Griffin said. `The situation being so... ironic.'

   Martha didn't answer. She stared at him, and past him,into the walkway. Where were his men? Where were thearmed UCF squaddies to back him up and drag her away?

   She swallowed. The scar-faced man was alone. Was heintending to simply finish her himself, then and there?

   `Don't you think it's ironic?' he asked. Martha didn'treply. The man nodded to himself. `I had a hunch youmight not be particularly chatty with me.'

   `You spent six months pursuing me across the face ofthe planet,' Martha said quietly. `You've tried to kill me.What do you expect?'

   `Fair point,' the man replied. `My name's Griffin, bythe way.' He showed her his UCF identity card. `Whathappened to your fancy perception filter?' he asked.

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   She said nothing.

   `You lose it, or did it break down?'

   She remained silent.

   He shrugged.

   `I'm only making conversation,' he said.

   `Just get it over with,' said Martha.

   Griffin stared at her. `You think... you think I've cometo kill you or something?'

   `Or drag me off to the Master,' she said.

   `If only,' Griffin snorted. `Sorry, Martha Jones, Ithought you'd realised.'

   `Realised what?'

   Griffin showed her his colour-coded wristband. `I'm aprisoner too, just like you,' he said.

   Martha stared at him. `What are you talking about?'

   Griffin sat down on the far end of her cot. `I'm aprisoner. A labour slave. A raid patrol picked me up andbrought me in a few days ago.'

   `Stop it,' said Martha.

   `Stop what?'

   `This is some kind of trick. A ruse to wrong-foot me.You want information or something.'

   `No. Honestly, no.'

   `I don't believe you,' said Martha. `You're just trying toget information out of me. You'd have just shot me orextracted me to the Valiant otherwise.'

   `I'm telling the truth, woman,' said Griffin.

   `Rubbish! You're UCF! You've got the credentials toprove it--'

   `Yeah,' mused Griffin, looking at his ID, `the guards

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here don't seem very impressed by that.'

   `Why would the UCF lock up one of their own?'

   `It's a puzzle, all right. I can tell you, I was surprised,'said Griffin. `There's only one explanation I can think of.'

   `And what's that?' asked Martha.

   `The UCF isn't running this place. The guards mightwear the uniform, but they don't answer to the Master.Someone else is in charge here.'

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    It was another two shifts before she saw Griffin again.

    He found her waiting in a post-shift food line, queuing for

    a ration of noodle soup.

       `Thought any more about what I said?' Griffin asked.

       Martha ignored him.

       `Oh, stop it with the cold-shoulder treatment, Jones.

    Really, it's getting old. I understand that we're never

    going to be friends, and we have a history on the outside.

    But in here, in Aka, we're just another couple of lost

    souls. And something's going on here.'

       `I don't know what you expect me to say or do,' Martha

    replied.

       `Listen to me for five minutes,' he suggested.

       `For the last six months,' Griffin said, `all I've wanted

    to do is catch you. There was a lot riding on it: big

    promotions, the favour of Our Master.'

       `Yours maybe, not mine.'

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   Griffin shrugged. `Anyway, things have changed. Rightnow, I personally don't care what happens to you. I justwant to get out of here alive. And I reckon being trappedin here is kind of messing up your mission too.'

   Martha looked at him, mocking.

   `What? So we team up and escape? Is that what you'resuggesting?' she asked.

   `You put it like that, it sounds stupid,' said Griffin, `butI reckon my chances of getting out of Aka will be a wholelot better with you on board.'

   `Why?'

   `Because you're the famous Martha Jones, and for OurMaster to want you quite so badly, you must be a seriousoperator.'

   They were sitting in her cage and eating their meagrefood.

   `Go on, then,' Martha said. `Five minutes.'

   `There's something going on here. Our Master doesn't--'

   `If you're going to mention him, just call him theMaster,' Martha interrupted. `This "Our" business makesmy skin crawl.'

   Griffin nodded, and dredged the soup with his spoon.`Whatever's going on here, the Master doesn't knowabout it. He's not aware of it. To the outside world, Japanis just another part of the global empire. It's covered bythe Over Watch net, and administered by the UCF, justlike everywhere else.'

   `Go on.'

   `I tracked you through the Russian Federation. Our last

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brush was at Shipyard One, remember that?'

   She nodded sourly.

   `You gave me the slip, as usual. Slippery Martha Jones.But I had a number of good leads. That's the thing,Martha, you go around the world telling people who youare and asking them to remember you, you leave a trail.'

   `I said go on.'

   Griffin smiled. `I was pretty sure you were heading toJapan by ship, and I wanted to jump ahead and be waitingfor you. Now, to move from zone to zone, you needauthorisation, even if you're UCF. So I contacted UCFCoordination Japan, and requested permission to bring myteam into Honshu by air. They turned me down.According to them, this is a no-fly zone, because of thesensitivity of the work being done in the plants. You seeany Toclafane here?'

   `No,' she admitted.

   `UCF Japan informed me that even Toclafane arebanned from their airspace, something about theirenergetic profiles adversely affecting the guidancesystems under manufacture. The only way in or out is bysea. Doesn't that sound a little suspect to you?'

   Martha frowned. `It seems excessive. But then, there'ssomething odd here. When I got close to the Kuro andShiro plants, my perception filter failed. That's how I wascaught.'

   Griffin nodded, interested. `I got in touch with myADC,' he said. `She's one of Ou- the Master's sectorchiefs. I asked her to pull some strings, maybe even getthe Master to order UCF Japan to allow a plane in, and

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even she ran into a brick wall. UCF Japan told her that myintel was wrong. Martha Jones was not coming to Japan.They said they had positive data placing Martha Jones ona supertanker heading into Ch'ongjin in North Korea. Iwas advised to route my team that way.'

   `But you thought better?' said Martha.

   `I knew better, Jones. I may have spent six monthsfailing to catch you, but I know how you work, and I'velearned to read the traces. Japan was wrong. I told myADC so and firmly but politely suggested she sorted itout. More dragging of heels. I was losing time. You weregetting away. So I took a leaf out of your book, Jones.'

   `You became a nice person all of a sudden?' she askedsnidely.

   `Ha ha. Funny girl. I stowed away. I jumped on asupply ship heading for Yokohama, following your trail. Itook my oppo, Bob Rafferty, with me. I left the rest of myteam in Vladivostok, waiting for the go command frommy ADC to fly in and join me. Far as I know, they're stillthere, kicking their heels.'

   `As far as you know?'

   Griffin put his food pail down on the cage floor. `WhenI got here, my direct phone link to UCF High Commandstopped working,' he said. `It's Archangel, but it stoppedworking. I lost contact with my team, the Valiant and myADC. My special little phone broke down, Jones, just likeyour filter.'

   Martha dropped her spoon into her pail and waited forhim to continue.

   `The five minutes are almost up, Griffin,' she said.

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    `Me and Rafferty had been on the ground here sixhours when the patrol rounded us up. We showed themour credentials. They weren't interested. Rafferty tried toimpress upon them that we were legitimate UCF. Theyshot him in the head, execution style. No warning, nocaution, just a double tap. That's when I realised thatthings weren't right in Japan. Not right at all.'

    `And you surrendered?'

    Griffin frowned. `I'm a soldier. I know about killing,and I'm not ashamed to admit it,' he said. `The men in theraid patrol had a look in their eyes. Sometimes you fight,sometimes you know when to fold your hands behindyour head.'

    He looked up at the cages stacked above them. Theycould both hear sobbing and moaning. Somewhere,someone was shrieking with pain or frustration. Guardswere shouting. The stench of Aka, though they had grownused to it, was dispiriting.

    `This may not be the best situation in the world,'Griffin said, `but I'm still alive. And so are you. Youbelieve in hope, Jones?'

    `Do you have to ask?' she said.

    He smiled. `This is what hope feels like, when hope isall you've got.'

Her belly empty, her hands shaking, Martha draggedherself through the next shift on deck nineteen of Shirodome. She burned the ball of her thumb badly with hersolder gun, and a guard hit her twice in the ribs fordelaying the belt rate.

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   As she settled back to the demanding, monotonous toil,her ribs throbbing, Martha realised that her Aka slaveexistence wasn't just another trial she was being forced toendure. It wasn't an experience she could drive herself tolive through and afterwards look back on. This was it.They were going to work her until she died. Unless shedid something about it, Aka labour camp and Shiro workplant were going to be her life until it ended.

   If her life ended here, then the world ended with it. Hertask was only half done. The world was waiting for her.The Doctor was counting on her. So were her mother andher father...

   She refused to cry. If she cried, she'd miss a circuitboard on the belt, and that would mean another beating, orworse.

   She thought about Griffin. She thought about hope.

   She thought about a little girl who was looking afterher earrings.

Martha had begun to set up a pattern for her storytelling.The guards noticed if too many people shifted around inthe cage decks between shifts, so she scheduled thingscarefully: a three-night pattern. Hito, and another boycalled Ono, would bring a group of slaves to her on thefirst night, and other slaves, ones who had already heardher speak, would filter out and take their places in thecages. On the second night, Martha would rest, and theslaves who had heard the stories would spread out throughthe cage decks and communicate them to groups of theirown. On every third night, Martha would furtively leave

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her cage and go and talk to a new group on a differentdeck.

   `I'd like to hear one of your stories,' Griffin said to herin the food line.

   `Don't. Just stay in your cage,' she told him.

   `But--'

   `Griffin, if you want to earn my cooperation, you'llstart doing what I tell you.'

   Griffin nodded, but he was beginning to hear the storiesanyway. Jones was good, he had to give her credit. Shefired people up. Once they'd heard her speak, theycouldn't help sending her stories on. One by one, secondhand, he was hearing most of them.

Martha flopped down on her cot. It was shift end, and shefelt brain-dead with fatigue. Her hands were wrapped indirty bandages, most of them strips torn from her bedding.The Aka guards didn't care how much the work damagedher. There was no first aid or medical functionary.

   Hito appeared in the doorway of her cage. It was storynight. She was due to perform.

   `Hito, please, give me ten minutes,' she sighed.

   Hito shook his head. `Tonight's listeners aren't hereyet, Martha Jones,' he said. `You have time to rest.'

   He came into her cage, and made a quick, respectfulbow. He'd reserved a portion of his ration for her again.Hito kept doing that, no matter how many times shegratefully made him take it back for himself.

   `Hito, I thank you, but please...'

   `I've heard something, Martha Jones,' he said. He

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bowed again.

    `What sort of something?' she asked.

    `I have heard that there is a third plant, Martha Jones.Yuki heard, and told Basu, and he told Ono, who told me.'

    She sat up. `A third plant? What does that mean?'

    Hito shrugged. `There is Kuro and there is Shiro, andthere is a third plant. It is called Koban.'

    `Koban?'

    Hito nodded, eagerly.

    `Aka and Kiiro slave camps service Shiro, Ao andMidori camps service Kuro. But there is also Koban. Yukiheard, and told Basu, who told--'

    `Get to the point, Hito, please,' she begged.

    `Every month,' said Hito, `the guards come and extractworkers from Aka to serve at Koban. Thirty workers everymonth. They pick them at random, if no one volunteers.'

    `But you can volunteer?' she asked.

    Hito nodded. `This is what Yuki told Basu.'

    `What is this Koban?'

    Hito made a face. `That, I cannot say. But they claimit's a way out of the camps.'

    `Why?'

    `Because none of the workers ever come back.'

`None of the workers ever come back,' Martha said.

   Griffin thought about that.

   Martha felt extremely uneasy standing in the doorwayof Griffin's cage. It felt like she was appeasing the enemy.

   `They claim it's a way out of the camps,' Martha added.

   Griffin nodded. `None of the workers ever come back.

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What does that say to you, Jones?'

   `It suggests that none of the workers ever come backbecause they're dead.'

   `Exactly.'

   `But what if none of the workers ever come backbecause they're moved to a facility with better conditions?You know, as a perk of taking on extra responsibility?'

   Griffin shrugged.

   `Still sounds like a bad idea to me, Jones,' he said.

   Martha sagged a little. `Me too, I suppose.'

   Griffin looked up at her. `You were thinking of goingfor it?' he asked.

   She sighed and said, `I don't know. Possible death ispreferable to certain death, isn't it? Isn't that how a soldierlike you would calculate it?'

   Griffin sniggered. `Sounds too rich for my blood,' hereturned.

   `So what? We stay here until they work us into ourgraves?'

   He rose to face her.

   `I've been looking around,' he said. `Looking for weaklinks in the security. I think I've found a few places thatare compromised. Early days, Jones, but frankly I'd rathertry to break out of here, a place I know, than risk gettinginto a worse situation.'

   She nodded. `I just thought I'd tell you,' she said.

   `You're going to do it, aren't you, Jones?' Griffinasked.

   `I haven't made my mind up,' she replied. `Probablynot. You're right. You're right. Aka is bad, but the grass

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may not be greener.'

                          * * *

Hooters sounded. Sirens wailed.

   `Koban! Koban! Any takers for work duties in Kobanplant!' the guards shouted. `Volunteers? Better conditions!Privileges! Complete a two-week tour in Koban, and youearn your freedom!'

   None of the slaves made a move. They stared down outof their cages.

   `All right then,' announced the chief guard to hisunderlings. `Pick them by numbers and generate a workcrew. Thirty workers!'

   The camp guards consulted their manifests, and startedyelling out numbers.

   `I volunteer,' Martha called out.

   The chief guard nodded, and gestured to Martha.

   `Good. Down here, please.'

   `I volunteer too!' shouted Hito.

   `Join the line, slave,' the chief replied.

   As Hito ran up behind her, Martha turned to glare athim.

   `No, you don't!' she hissed. `Don't do this!'

   `I go where you go, Martha Jones,' Hito said, grinning.

   `Oh, please, don't do this to me,' she groaned.

   `I volunteer!' Ono called out.

   `So do I!' cried Tokami.

   `No! No, no!' Martha growled.

   `So do I,' said a voice. Griffin clumped down the

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grilled stairs from his cage to join them. `Anywhere's gotto be better than here,' he told the guards.

   They forced him into line. He nodded to Martha. Shedidn't know whether to feel pleased or angry.

   Once the guards had filled their quota of thirty bodies,they opened the gates of Aka camp.

A school bus, repainted in UCF drab black, was waitingfor them in the dank concrete bay. They filed aboard. Hitoseemed almost jubilant. Griffin avoided Martha and sat atthe back alone. Tokami took the seat beside Martha.

    `Where are they taking us, Martha, do you think?'Tokami asked.

    Martha didn't reply. She had a terrible feeling offoreboding. Taking herself over the precipice was onething. Taking innocents with her was quite another.

    The bus started up and drove out of the bay. The gatesof Aka camp opened to let them out.

    They drove for an hour. For a fraction of a second inthat hour, Martha glimpsed the mountains, peepingthrough the sickly smog.

    Koban plant was a grey concrete block twenty storeystall, surrounded by rings of pain-wire and auto-gunemplacements. Five cage gates opened and closed to letthem in. They drove down a long ramp into a basementgarage, where the guards ordered them out.

    `It smells funny in here,' Hito said.

    `Quiet!' one of the guards ordered.

    `Kid's right,' Griffin whispered, coming in close behindMartha. `The air's wrong. Something's off.'

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   `Prepare for sanitisation!' the chief guard yelled.

   All notions of dignity were abandoned at that point.Faced with aimed guns, they were required to strip andwalk through a series of harsh, pungent chemical showers.At the far end of the shower block, they were blown dryby air systems, and handed overalls by hazmat-suitedpersonnel.

   `This isn't promising,' Griffin whispered to Martha ashe pulled his overalls on.

   `Just look somewhere else until I'm dressed,' Marthareplied.

   A hatch opened.

   `In here,' ordered one of the hazmat guards.

   A large antechamber awaited them on the other side ofthe hatch. It was bathed in cold, silvery light. The guardswithdrew and closed the hatch.

   `Welcome to Koban, volunteers,' voices said in unison.The words sounded clipped, as if the voices weren't usedto speaking the language.

   `Who are you?' Martha called out.

   `We are in control here,' said the voices, mingled asone, `and you are the famous Martha Jones.'

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    The Relativistic Segue occupied a vast chamber in the

    heart of the Koban plant. The chamber stank of

    electromagnetics and ozone. The Segue was contained

    within a framework of polished chrome obelisks rooted on

    a stone plinth. The design of the obelisks, even their

    proportions, revealed that though they had been

    constructed from terrestrial materials, they had not been

    designed by a terrestrial mind.

       The Segue was like a bright bolt of lightning moving in

    very slow motion. It was an artificially induced tear in the

    fabric of space-time. The Drast were very proud of it.

       They were also fascinated by Martha Jones.

       `You are the famous companion of the Doctor,' said

    one.

       `Tell us about the Doctor,' requested another.

       `Tell us about the Master,' added a third.

       `Tell us about the Time Lords. Tell us the secrets they

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have told you.'

   They had removed her from the volunteer group, andtaken her to an observation platform overlooking theSegue. There were six of them, and they gathered aroundher inquisitively. They were tall, slender and vaguelyhumanoid, though their anatomical proportions seemedwrong. Each one wore a suit of complex, tight-fittingarmour made out of a gleaming blue metal, and theycovered their faces behind extravagantly ornate metalmasks that reminded Martha of squawking birds. A brighttungsten light shone through the eye and mouth slits of themasks, and from gaps between the closely wroughtsegments of their armour, suggesting that their bodieswere bioluminescent, like creatures of the deepest, darkestlimits of the ocean.

   `Who are you?' Martha asked.

   `We are the Drast,' said one.

   `We are Drast Speculation Initiative Fourteen,' saidanother.

   `What does that mean?' asked Martha. `How long haveyou been on Earth?'

   `One Earth decade,' said another.

   `And what is your purpose?' she asked.

   `We are Drast Speculation Initiative Fourteen,' theyrepeated.

   `What does that mean?' Martha asked.

   `We were sent by the Great Drast to conduct aclandestine assessment of this world,' one of them replied.

   `We were further charged to initiate economictakeover,' another added.

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   `You're... invaders?' Martha asked.

   `We are speculators. We despise warfare. We engagewith the economic infrastructures of chosen worlds, andmanipulate them until effective cultural and economiccontrol of the chosen worlds are ours.'

   `You mean you take over the running of entire worldswithout anyone knowing?' Martha's eyes were wide.

   `It is a long and complex operation,' said a Drast.

   `A successful speculation may take generations tocomplete. Subtle micro-adjustments are made over aperiod of years to engineer crucial measures of control,'said another.

   Martha shook her head in disbelief. `Are you telling methat when the Master took control of the planet, it wasalready being invaded?' she asked.

   `The arrival of the Master was an unforeseen variable,'said one of the Drast.

   `We cannot compete with him. He would obliterate us.This Speculation Initiative has been abandoned,' saidanother.

   `We have used disguise fields to conceal ourselvesfrom the Master while we arrange and execute ourwithdrawal from Earth,' said a third.

   `You mean get in your spaceship and fly away?' askedMartha.

   `Use of conventional inter-system craft is not anoption,' one of the Drast answered. `The Master wouldobliterate our craft before we had cleared the atmosphere.'

   `Our withdrawal from Earth,' added another, `musttherefore be accomplished using the Segue.'

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                           * * *

The Drast, Martha learned, had been well established inJapan's technology sectors when the Master had revealedhimself. They had used their position to clandestinely takecontrol of the guidance manufacture operation that theMaster had set up in Honshu. This allowed them access tosome of the most advanced technology that the Masterwas developing for his fleet, including the potent BlackHole Converters.

   One such converter had been partially dismantled in theKoban plant, and then activated under laboratoryconditions. It had opened the Relativistic Segue. It hadtorn a hole in time and space, a doorway through whichthe Drast could escape.

   It wasn't that simple, of course.

Martha watched from the platform as armed guards inhazmat suits led one of volunteers into the Segue chamber.It was Ono. The boy looked scared. He had a harnessbuckled to him, from which ran a safety line. The guardswalked Ono towards the Segue plinth, the line playing outbehind him.

   `I don't understand,' said Martha, with mountingconcern.

   `The Segue must be calibrated until transit is safe,' saidone of the Drast.

   `The Segue could lead anywhere,' said another. `Intothe heart of a sun, into empty space, into a toxic world. It

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must be tested. If the test result is deemed unfavourable,the Segue is recalibrated to a new location and another testis made.'

   `Tested?' Martha breathed. `By... by sending someonethrough it?'

   `This is the most effective way of testing.'

   `But you can't!' she cried. `This is what the volunteersare for? You just can't!'

   `But we can.'

   `And we have.'

   `And we are.'

   Martha looked on in horror as Ono nervouslyapproached the incandescent split of the Segue. He tookone last glance behind him and stepped into the light.

   He vanished. The safety line slowly began to drag intothe Segue at waist height.

   `How many times have you done this?' Martha asked.

   `Ninety-eight times,' said the Drast.

   `And how many times has it been... unfavourable?'

   `Ninety-eight times,' said the Drast.

   `So ninety-eight volunteers have been killed?'

   `It is impossible to determine. Few have been retrieved.None has been retrieved intact.'

   The safety line suddenly went slack and dropped to theground. The guards hauled on it, pulling it back out of theSegue. Ono was no longer attached to it. The end of theline was fused and smouldering.

   `Test ninety-nine complete,' announced one of theDrast.

   `Result deemed unfavourable.'

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  `Begin recalibration of the Segue.'

  `Prepare another test subject.'

                          * * *

`They're going to send us through a hole in space one byone until one of us comes back alive?' asked Griffin.

    `That's the idea,' Martha replied. She had been returnedto the volunteer group in the holding room.

    Griffin shook his head. `Just when I thought the worldcouldn't get any crazier,' he said.

    `What did they want with you, Martha?' asked Hito.

    `They wanted to find out what I knew about the Master.They're afraid of him. I think they assume that, because ofmy connection to the Doctor, I must know of secretweaknesses they can exploit. They wouldn't be the first tothink that.'

    `What did you tell them?' asked Tokami anxiously.

    `Nothing,' Martha replied. `When I saw what they didto Ono, I wasn't in the mood to answer questions. I expectI'll be summoned again later. They're busy recalibratingthe Segue.'

    `What will you tell them then?' asked Griffin.

    `Nothing,' Martha snapped.

    `We've got to get out of here,' said Griffin. `We've gotto find a way out. Fight our way out, if necessary.'

    `Fight?' echoed Martha. She looked around the groupof scared volunteers. `I think you're the only fighter here,Griffin.'

    He shook his head. `Everyone's a fighter if they have to

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be,' he told her. `I say we rush the guards next time theycome for one of us.'

   `No,' said Martha.

   `It could work,' said Griffin. `They're probably used topeople being too cowed and freaked out by this place tooffer any resistance. We rush them and--'

   `No,' said Martha.

   Griffin scowled at her. `So we just sit and wait for themto walk us to our deaths, one by one?' he asked.

   She hesitated. `No,' she said. `I'm going to talk tothem. I'm going to tell them something.'

   `What?' asked Griffin.

   `A story,' she said.

`I would like you to listen to me,' said Martha. `I knowyou're afraid of the Master. You have every right to be,but you are advanced beings. You have amazingtechnology at your disposal. Your technology has alreadyproved capable of fooling the Master.'

   `What is the purpose of this dialogue?' asked the Drast.

   `I'm saying to you that you could help,' she said. `Youcould help me, you could help the Doctor, and you couldhelp the human race. If we work together we couldoverthrow the Master.'

   `This outcome is unfavourable,' one of them replied.

   `I'm not saying it will be easy,' said Martha. `I'masking you to help the human race in its darkest hour.'

   `This outcome is unfavourable,' said another.

   `If we stand together, we could make a difference,' shesaid. `It's what the Doctor would do...'

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                    StarCrossedThere were six of them no, seven, Martha realised. Shewas just able to make out the seventh man, in the gloombehind the others. The passage was too narrow for them tostand more than three abreast and the lighting strips setinto the low ceiling were only putting out a weak,flickering luminescence.

    The men were armed with an assortment of crudeweapons: metal bars, strips of metal sharpened intoragged-looking knives. One of them, Martha noticed, wasbrandishing a large spanner, as if he had raided a toolboxbefore joining the others.

    `Let her go,' one of them said. He was tall andpowerfully built, his hair cropped short. He wore a plaingrey coverall that had been patched in a couple of places.

    From what Martha could make out in the poor light, theothers in the group were equally well built and woresimilar coveralls, each bearing their own pattern of stainsand repairs.

    The man behind Martha said nothing, but took a stepback. The painful way he held Martha's arms twisted upinto the middle of her back meant that she had no choicebut to take a step back, too.

    On the floor between Martha and the armed men, theDoctor eased himself up off his knees. As he straightened,he gingerly pressed his hand against the base of his skull.

    `Well, now that was unexpected,' he said.

    He had been standing with his back to Martha, facing

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the armed men who had come pounding along thecorridor, shouting for someone called `Breed' not to move.

   The only other person in the corridor was the lone,unarmed figure who had half-run, half-stumbled into thema moment or two earlier; this, Martha assumed, must beBreed.

   Seeing the weapons in their hands, the Doctor hadstepped forward, smiling. He'd spread his arms and hislong coat formed a curtain between the armed group andtheir quarry.

   `Hello! I'm the Doctor. Maybe I could--'

   That was when Breed had hit him a single punch,hard, at the base of his skull. Martha didn't need hermedical training to know that punch could cause someserious damage. The Doctor had dropped like a puppetwhose strings had been cut.

   The next thing Martha knew was that someone wasbehind her and had hold of her arms and, if she tried tomove them, they hurt. A lot.

   `You think that's going to stop us?' The leader of thearmed group spoke again.

   The grip on Martha's arms shifted, eased for a moment,then tightened, just as an arm slid across her throat. Itsuddenly became much less comfortable to take a breath.

   `OK, that's enough. Hold it right there!' the Doctorsaid. He was on his feet and his voice had taken on aharder edge. `Before anyone gets hurt and I have to dosomething I might regret.'

   Everything seemed to happen at once. The armed menlunged forward as if they were a single animal, teeth

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bared, weapons poised to strike. Martha felt the armclamp more tightly across her throat. She choked,struggling for breath as she was dragged backwards, awayfrom the Doctor and the armed men who now seemed tobe having trouble getting past him. The Doctor seemed tohave tripped and stumbled into the path of the armed menand, however much they shouted at him and whicheverway they tried to get around him, they just couldn't getpast. As she was hauled along the corridor, now moving soquickly that she was running backwards on tip-toe, heldup by the same arm that was choking her, the scenereceded into the gloom.

   Grey mist edged her vision. For a heartbeat she felt asif she was floating, held up by the bubble of her lastbreath. Then the bubble burst and she was falling.

`Oops. So sorry. Clumsy old me.' The Doctor lurchedsuddenly across the corridor. The armed gang tried to pushpast him, but somehow he was always in their way, armsout, pushing them back as he righted himself, only to losehis footing yet again and flounder back into their path.

   The gang's leader swore and jabbed his makeshiftblade at the Doctor but found himself clutching air. Theweapon had vanished.

   `Is this yours?' the Doctor asked innocently as heoffered the knife to another member of the group whohardly had time to shake his head before he was holdingthe knife and the metal bar he had been carrying found itsway into the hand of one of his companions.

   `If you hold this and I give this to you, then I can take

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that and give it to you to look after....' Words cascadedfrom the Doctor as the men's weapons moved from handto fist at one point, a particularly thin and wicked-looking blade seemed to be plucked from behind itserstwhile owner's ear apparently under some mysteriouspower of their own. Like the captive audience of aninsanely gifted illusionist, they were unable to keep a firmgrasp on their weapons until Breed was...

   Gone. The Doctor glanced down the now-emptycorridor and stopped, back on exactly the spot he had beenstanding when the men first lunged forward.

   `So,' he said, hands now jammed in his pockets.`Which one of you's going to take me to your leader?'

The coffins were racked in tiers around the walls, linkedby thick skeins of wiring and flexible tubing. The dimlighting threw deep shadows across the cramped space.Glasses on, the Doctor was peering at the readoutsdisplayed on a bank of screens at one end of the racks. Hejabbed at a screen, tapped another and watched columnsof figures scroll down them. Martha watched him, naggedby the intense feeling that she had been here before.

   `What's this some kind of outer-space freezer aisle?'she asked, her sense of dislocation intensifying. She hadsaid that the last time she was here.

   `Very good!' The Doctor laughed as he clambered up aclanging metal ladder and raced along the first walkway.His head bobbed as he glanced at the smaller screensbolted to the foot of each coffin. `These caskets arecryogenic units. Built to last, too.' He kicked the nearest

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coffin, producing a deep, hollow tone.

   `Cryogenic,' repeated Martha, who was beginning tofeel she as if she was reciting a rehearsed script. `So we'retalking suspended animation then?'

   `Exactly!' The Doctor had reached the end of thewalkway. He slid down the ladder and bounced over toMartha. `Whoever lay down in one of these casketswouldn't have expected to wake up for a long time.Decades. Centuries even.' He whipped off his glasses andwaved them in the air as he paced back and forth. `I'd betmy shirt that this is a generation ship. But I wouldn't betmy shirt because it's a very nice shirt and I wouldn't wantto lose it. Only I wouldn't lose my shirt, I mean because I'm right. I mean, how often have you known meto be wrong?'

   `Rewind a second, will you?' Martha said, even thoughshe knew what the Doctor's answer would be, before sheasked the question. `Generation ship?'

   `A tin can full of frozen colonists. Whole families firedat the world they're going to colonise and more or lessforgotten. Until they reach their target world, when thecargo's thawed out and woken up so they're able to get onwith being explorers and colonists instead of frozen meatproducts.' The Doctor looked around the dimly lit racks ofempty caskets.

   `The caskets aren't drawing any power but, judging bythese readouts, I'd say power's running low all over theship. It's still a long way from its target. And the cargoshould still be asleep.'

   The Doctor should have spun on his heel and marched

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out the door, but he leaned in close and stared deep intoher eyes. The intensity of his gaze made her gasp andcatch her breath. He was so close, she could reach out and--

    `Are you all right?' he asked. There was somethingwrong with his face. It was bloating, losing shape no,changing shape. She opened her mouth to warn him... anddiscovered that she could not breath.

    `Are you all right?' the Doctor repeated. Mouth gapinglike a landed fish, Martha thought it must be prettyobvious that she wasn't all right. But the Doctor continuedto stare at her, and his face continued to change shape,skin running like hot wax, one eye ballooning while theother changed colour.

    `Are you all right?' It wasn't the Doctor's voice now.Female. Coming from a lipless mouth in a face withoutform. Martha's struggle for breath became a struggle toscream.

    `Are you all right?' the monstrosity repeated. `Pleasetell me you're all right!'

Martha coughed and took a deep gulping breath. The faceabove her snapped into shape and focus: a young woman.

   `Are you all right?' the woman asked. `Please tell meyou're all right.'

   Blinking, eyes adjusting to the dim light, Martha saw asecond face, looking down at her: Breed.

   `I know you,' she croaked. She pushed herselfbackwards across the rough metal floor, panic rising.

   Martha's back hit something and she froze. Looking

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back and up, she saw a face. Breed's face.

   Barely suppressing a scream, Martha recoiled, scuttledround on the floor and somehow got her feet under her.Springing upright and fighting to keep her balance asher head swam and her stomach lurched she desperatelyscanned the dimly lit space for an escape route.

   Smaller than the cryogenic chamber, it was crammedwith storage tanks, connected by a maze of ductwork andcables to a series of caskets racked against one wall. Thecaskets' full-length hatches hung open and Martha becameaware of a damp, mouldy odour that came from theirdirection.

   But most of her attention was focused on Breed, whostood a short way in front of her, when he should havebeen behind her. And on the group of ten or so otherfigures, fanning out around the cramped space,surrounding her.

   They all wore Breed's face.

The nutrient troughs had been roughly welded togetherfrom metal sheets scavenged, the Doctor assumed, fromall over the ship. They ran the length of the empty holdand the pale, grey-veined foliage of the hydroponicallyreared crops hung limply over their sides.

   `Human beings,' the Doctor said with a grin. `Youreally are brilliant! A situation might look hopeless, butthat doesn't stop you trying to do something about it.' Heshaded his eyes and looked up at the light-strips that hungover the troughs.

   `That doesn't answer my question,' said the man who

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had introduced himself as Treve, Chief Planetary Surveyorand ad hoc head of the Steering Council. Laine, the leaderof the armed group that had been pursuing Breed, stoodbeside Treve, having reported the events in the tunnel.Two of Laine's group now flanked the Doctor. Trevenoticed they looked nervous, kept shooting sidewaysglances at the prisoner, as if they expected feared,almost he might make some sudden move.

   `Eh?' The Doctor stopped staring up at the light stripsand returned his attention to Treve. `Oh. Right. Yourquestion... Which was...?'

   `Who are you and where's the Breed designated Theta-Nine?'

   `That's two questions and I've already answered one ofthem. I'm the Doctor. I told your man there you calledhim Laine when he frogmarched me in here when wemet in the corridor, but he seemed more interested inputting my friend's life in danger.'

   `You're the one who got in our way,' Laine said. `Forall I know the Breed grabbing her was some kind of bluffto get us to hold back.'

   `And he'd already clobbered me for what a bit of alaugh?' The Doctor's tone was mocking. `I just have thisthing about bullies. You know, the type who gang uponsomeone and go after them like a pack of dogs. Don'tlike them. Don't like them at all.' He paused, before goingon: `Still, I imagine it must have come as a shock, wakingup and finding that you were still light years from yournew home.'

   Treve blinked, as surprised by the sudden shift in the

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prisoner's tone from menacing to breezy as by hisapparent knowledge of the onboard situation. `How...?'

   `Oh, the empty cryo-caskets, the energy readings you're still in deep space, so there's nothing for the solararrays to collect and your DIY hydroponics. Raided theseed store, the stuff intended to cultivate the new world?Like I said before: drop human beings in a tight spot andthey'll improvise like mad to get out of it. Give you lotlemons and before you know it, you're passing round thelemonade!' The Doctor went back to squinting at thelights.

   `Exactly how hard did Theta-Nine hit him?' Treveasked.

   `Harder than we thought, from the sound of things,'Laine replied.

   `So tell me.' The Doctor was brisk. `How long sinceyou came out of cryo-sleep?'

   `A little over two years,' said Treve. `Luckily, the cryo-system malfunctioned during a scheduled maintenancecycle. Artificials had been decanted and were performingtheir programmed tasks. They re-tasked to revive as manyof us as possible.'

   `As many as possible?'

   `About half,' Laine answered. `Funny how that evenedout the numbers nicely.' There was an edge of bitterness tohis voice.

   `You lost someone?' the Doctor asked.

   Laine nodded. `My wife. Both my children.'

   `I'm very sorry. I know what it's like to lose someoneyou care about.' The Doctor paused, lost in thought for a

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moment, then asked: `Breed is one of these Artificials?What are they? Genetic clones, vat-grown and stored, thenwoken up to perform regular maintenance checks or todeal with any small emergencies? I'm guessing there mustbe some cybernetic augmentation, so the ship can wakethem up when needed?'

   `You know a lot about Breeds for someone who claimsnot to be on their side,' said Laine.

   `I know a lot about a lot of things,' the Doctor replied.`This isn't the first time I've encountered the use of cloneslaves. I gather that Breed isn't a name. It's a description.'

   Treve nodded. `Bottle-Breeds.'

   `Charming.'

   `Their purpose is to maintain the ship and protect thecargo. The same basic personality profile is loaded intoeach one upon activation,' Treve said. `They're essentiallythe same person.'

   `Except one of them isn't. What has Theta-Nine doneto deserve being chased by an armed gang?'

   `He calls himself Edison,' said the man to the Doctor'sleft.

   `Edison?' the Doctor asked, eyebrows raised.

   `They started changing their designations,' said Treve,`and illegally accessing the ship's historical database tochoose new ones.'

   `Names!' The Doctor laughed. `They've chosen namesfor themselves instead of anonymous old Theta-This andGamma-That. Doesn't sound like something a basicpersonality profile would do, does it?'

   `Artificials were never intended to have such extended

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run-times,' the guard to the Doctor's left cut in again. `Thebasic program is adaptive to enable a Breed to react tochanges in a situation. Running for two years, the basicprogram has made larger and larger adaptive leaps, and...'

   The Doctor finished the guard's explanation for him.`And the mass-produced drones have become individuals!I'd have thought that studying the development of a newform of intelligence would be much more interesting to acybernetic systems expert than acting like a thug.'

   `How did you know...?' The man shrank back.

   The Doctor parroted Treve's earlier words. `"You knowa lot about Breeds for someone who claims not to be ontheir side." But that doesn't answer my question: what hasEdison done for you to want him dead?'

`You fell in love?' Martha was incredulous. `They want tokill you because you fell in love?'

   `They were more interested in compelling me to revealRomea's whereabouts,' replied the man who Martha had,until a few minutes ago, thought of as Breed. There wassomething in the smoothness of his tone and his choice ofwords that hinted at his language having been downloadedinto a chip-enhanced brain rather than learned duringanatural childhood. `I would have resisted their efforts toextract this information from me, so the outcome wouldalmost certainly have been my termination.'

   Martha noticed the young woman squeeze Edison'shand as they moved ahead of her along the corridor. Infront of them moved the rest of the Breed Artificials,Martha reminded herself from the decanting unit. That

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cramped, slightly smelly room was where Edison and therest of them were grown and stored. The mouldy smell,Martha had discovered, came from the last of the growthfluid, which had curdled in the curved bottoms of thegrowth tanks.

   Martha had been peering into the grey/brown sludge atthe bottom of one of the vats when a weird flutter seemedto go through the Artificials, as if they were stalks ofidentical corn being moved by the breeze. Suddenly theywere heading out the door, led by an Edison lookalikewho had introduced himself as Byron. There was a Jason,a Curie and a Demosthenes in the group, too, Martha haddiscovered as they introduced themselves once she hadstopped hyperventilating at the sight of ten identicalcopies of the creature she believed had kidnapped andalmost killed her.

   They approached slowly, as if trying to calm afrightened animal, then the young woman Romea hadstepped forward to explain and apologise for Martha'srough treatment. Edison hadn't intended to hurt her, butArtificials were stronger than humans they had to be, asthere was no heavy lifting machinery on board. `Not yet,anyway.'

   `Artificials are forbidden from fraternising withcolonists,' Edison continued. `The rules are quite clear.'

   `When they thought you were just part of the ship'sself-repair system, they didn't mind who you spent timewith,' Romea said, then turned to Martha, smiling shyly.`I'd already begun to get to know him. I knew my fatherwouldn't approve, so we met in secret.'

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   `When not on duty, all Artificials are to confinethemselves to the decanting unit,' Edison recited as hewalked. Martha thought she could detect a bitter edge tohis voice. `Artificials are to refrain from all non-technicalconversations with colonists...'

   `Artificials are to pretend to be machines,' Romeaadded. `That might have been how they were designed,but now they're individuals.'

   `But your father and the other colonists don't acceptthat?'

   `The colonising families were chosen for our geneticsuperiority. We all have the DNA markers for physicalrobustness, good immune response, intelligence. All thethings you'd want if you were founding an outpost on anew world. The Steering Council believe our geneticpurity should be preserved, no matter what the cost.'

   `Sounds ominous. How far do you think they'd go toget you back?'

   `It's gone beyond that. There was talk ofreprogramming. Some people were suspicious that somany of the colonists had died during the cryo-systemfailure. They thought the Artificials had decided to makesure we didn't have the strength of numbers. The systemstechs tried to access the ship's cybernetic system anddownload a virus to wipe out the adapted personalities,but the system had been locked.'

   `We may be artificial, but we're not stupid,' saidEdison.

   Martha couldn't help but chuckle.

   `That's when they started talking about rendering,' said

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Romea. `And that's when I knew I had to pick a side.'

    `Rendering?'

    Romea nodded. `Once an Artificial had completed itsscheduled maintenance duties, it would enter therendering vat. The body would be returned to itsconstituent amino acids and recycled to grow anotherArtificial.'

    Martha looked at Edison. `So you're...'

    `Grown from the recycled bodies of those who camebefore me,' Edison confirmed. `We all are.'

    `Somehow I can't see you all queuing up to jump intothe rendering vat now.'

    `No. That would require force.'

    `But Artificials are stronger than humans. Getyourselves some knives and the colonists will have losttheir advantage. They'd have to talk.'

    `The colonists want firearms, beam weapons,' Edisonsaid. `If they are the first to acquire them, they will soonbe loading our corpses into the rendering vat.'

    `You mean this ship has guns but no tractors or fork-lifts? That's crazy!'

    `The fabricator can make them all, weapons andtractors,' said Edison. `But if they activate it, they'll killeverybody.'

                           * * *

`A fabricator?' The Doctor sounded dubious. `Your energyreserves are already low. Activating a fabricator wouldfinish them off entirely. You'd be left in the cold and dark

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until the solar panel arrays could collect enough sunlightto recharge the batteries. You'd freeze and suffocate onyour own CO2 before you had enough power to turn on alight!'

    `We only need to run it for a very short time. Longenough to produce the weapons we need.' Treve's tonewas steely, determined. `The Artificials' enhanced strengthgives them an unnatural advantage--'

    `So you want something that goes shooty and bang-bang to tip the balance of power in your favour,' theDoctor cut in. `Even if it dooms you all?'

    `This debate is at an end,' Treve said with a thin smileof triumph. `Our people are on their way there now. Theywill secure the area and activate the fabricator. I'msatisfied that you are no threat to our plans, so I will jointhem. You will stay here, under guard, at least until wehave dealt with the Artificial problem.'

    Suddenly the Doctor was a blur of motion, leaping atTreve before either of his guards could react, passingthrough the narrow space between Treve and Laine andvaulting the hydroponics trough. The pale, ill-nourishedplants rustled drily as he brushed past them. Two longstrides brought him to another trough, which he againhurdled, passing between the plants like a breath of wind.

    `Stop him!' Laine bellowed.

    The two guards hesitated, unsure whether to follow theDoctor over the trough or take the long way around thetrough-ends. The Doctor had already hurdled the thirdtrough and he ran on, jumping through the forest ofmalnourished plants until he vaulted the last of the troughs

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and found himself facing a blank metal wall.

   To his left was a metal stairway leading to a walkwayhalfway up the wall he had been escorted along anidentical walkway and down an identical stairway on theopposite wall to his meeting with Treve. He clattered upthe stairs and through the hatch into the dimly lit mazebeyond.

The dull grey monolith towered overhead, featurelessapart from a keyboard and input screen. The chamber rosethree storeys high. Something about the way its wallsdisappeared up into the shadows reminded Martha of achurch.

    `That's a fabricator?' she asked.

    `This is the interface,' Romea replied. `The fabricator isbehind that bulkhead. It's huge.'

    As she spoke, the Artificials with whom they hadmarched through the corridors nodded greetings to thosethat were already there. While developing their ownindividual personalities, the Artificials still shared a kindof machine telepathy, through their cybernetic link withthe ship's systems, Romea and Edison had explained toher. As soon as the colonists were spotted, moving in forcetowards the compiler, a cybernetic council of war hadtaken place and a decision was reached. This had taken alittle under three seconds, Edison had added. Imagininghow much the Doctor would have enjoyed that lastsnippet of information, Martha had smiled to herself. TheDecision? To reach the compiler first and prevent thecolonists activating it, whatever the cost.

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   `The fabricator makes everything we need to colonisethe target world,' Romea said. `Its database containsdesign specs for machinery, tools, habitation structures,vehicles... When activated, the fabricator manipulatesmatter on the molecular level and delivers the finisheditem to one of five loading bays a thousand metresthrough there.' Romea pointed at the blank wall to whichthe interface was bolted.

   `Half our number are there,' Edison added. Marthadidn't envy the colonists the surprise of finding twentyEdison lookalikes waiting for them. She craned her neckback to look up at the top of the monolith. It certainlymade sense rather than try to pack everything for acenturies-long trip between the stars, just pack a machinethat could make everything when you got there. All itneeded was a plentiful supply of energy from the sunaround which the target world orbited, collected by solarpanel arrays the size of Wales. To activate it now, runningon stored power in the dark gulf between star systems,would be suicide.

   The sight of a face staring down at her from the darkcaused her to catch her breath. In the time it took her toshout a warning, the face had become one of many thecolonists, leaping over the rail of a walkway hidden by theshadows, shouting threats as they fell.

The Doctor came to a halt in the middle of a cross-junction. He had the nasty feeling he had been therebefore.

   `Not a good time to get lost,' he muttered.

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    The dull, ruby glow came from a low-set hatch at theend of one arm of the cross-junction. Inside, banks offlickering lights covering the walls of a hexagonal cubby-hole, a small screen and keyboard. The Doctor watchedthe lights, noting the patterns that emerged, the patchesthat remained unlit. The cursor blinked on the screen as ithad throughout the centuries this ship had been in flight.He reached for the keyboard, tapped out a staccatorhythm. Reading the response that scrolled across thescreen, he broke into a smile.

The sounds of struggle filled the room. Wherever shelooked, Martha saw bodies locked in conflict. Raggedblades stabbed and slashed.

   `Stop!' she found herself shouting. `Stop this!'

   A colonist and an Artificial, grappling for control of thecolonist's jagged blade, collided with Martha, slammingher into the wall. Stars flashed across her vision.

   `Martha!' Romea ran towards her... until she wasgrabbed by the collar of her coverall and jerkedbackwards, into the arms of a colonist.

   Martha shook away the stars and looked up. A coloniststood over her. In his raised fist he held a large spanner.

   `Have we met?' Martha asked. The spanner began itsdescent.

   Martha's attacker was slammed aside by an Artificial Edison? All around her, colonists and Artificials struggledwith one another, but suddenly Martha had clear space onevery side.

   `Stop this!' she shouted again. `This is bigger than love.

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Or rules. This is about survival!'

   As if in reaction to her words, those fighting all aroundher stumbled, pressing their hands to their temples or overtheir ears, shaking their heads, while from above her camea familiar voice:

   `Quite right, Martha. Now listen, all of you Stop.Right now!'

   The Doctor's last words brought some of the colonistsand Artificials to their knees, hands now firmly clampedover their ears.

   On the faces of those nearest to her, Martha could seeincomprehension and the beginnings of fear. Looking up,she saw the Doctor, standing on the same walkway fromwhich the colonists had launched their attack. He smileddown at her, then lifted what looked like a microphone tohis lips and spoke again.

   `Thought that might get your attention. Ladies andGentlemen, Colonists and... others. I have taken controlof the ship.'

   An Artificial turned his face towards Martha. A lividbruise covered one half of his forehead and blood ranfreely from a lip split in two or three places.

   `Your friend...' Martha assumed it must be Edison. TheArtificial spoke too loudly, as if shouting to be heard overa noise that Martha couldn't hear. `He's... in my head.How?'

   With a crow-like flapping of his long coat, the Doctorvaulted the walkway rail and landed lightly on his rubber-soled feet a short way from Martha.

   `That's a very good question,' he flashed a grin.

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`Fortunately, I know the answer.'

   From the corner of her eye, Martha caught sight ofsudden movement. A colonist staggered to his feet andswung a blunt tool of some sort at the nearest Artificial.Two long strides brought the Doctor within range.Reaching down with his free hand he plucked the toolfrom the colonist's grasp. Something in the gentle-yet-irresistible nature of the movement reminded her of theway he had prevented the gang of colonists from pursuingEdison down the corridor.

   `I said this ends now!' the Doctor shouted into themicrophone... and every colonist and Artificial in theroom clutched at their heads. Some moaned, others criedout. `In a moment I'm going to turn down the volume. Ifanyone tries anything nasty, I'll be turning it all the wayup to eleven. I can't promise that won't cause permanentdamage.' He adjusted something on the stem of themicrophone, which Martha thought looked like it hadbeen put together on the run.

   With a chorus of relieved sighs and groans, thecolonists and Artificials eased themselves off the floor andfell back into two opposing groups, staring warily at eachother across the narrow strip of neutral space in which theDoctor and Martha stood. Romea, Martha noticed, stoodwith the Artificials.

   `That's much better. This is for those in the loadingbays and anywhere else on board. Just because I'm notthere doesn't mean I won't know if you try anythingviolent, sneaky or otherwise really, really stupid. I am onvery good terms with your ship's Pilot System and she is

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keeping an eye on all of you.'

   The Doctor cleared his throat.

   `I am speaking to everyone on board the generationship 374926-slash-GN66 and by the way, you reallyshould consider coming up with a better name than that because I want to stop you making the biggest mistakeany of you are ever liable to make. To be honest, if youmade this mistake it would have to be the biggest becausenone of you would live to make another one.'

   `This is our ship! This is our mission!' Treve wasstanding at the walkway rail, Laine beside him as heshouted down at the Doctor. They must have been closerbehind him than he'd thought. `Artificials are created toserve and when their purpose is done, to submit and berendered down for future generations. The purity of thehuman gene-type must be preserved.' There was a murmuramong the colonists. Some shuffled forward.

   `Oh, things have gone much, much too far for that.' TheDoctor shook his head, then pointed a finger at the feet ofthe advancing colonists.

   `Eleven,' he said, his tone deceptively light as hejiggled the makeshift microphone loosely.

   The colonists withdrew.

   `You're rational people: scientists, planetary engineers,world-builders. You all know that purity's not how lifeworks. Life, evolution, creativity they all thrive onvariety, diversity, finding new combinations and seeingwhat happens. Half of you know that's already happened.'The Doctor shot a significant look at the Artificials.

   Romea turned to Edison. `What does he mean?'

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   Edison seemed unsure how to answer. He exchangeduncertain glances with the other Artificials.

   `I... I know!' Romea gasped, eyes suddenly wide. `Iknow what happened and I'm seeing parts of it, flashes.Memories!' She looked at Edison. `Your memories?'

   The Artificial nodded.

   `That's a girl!' the Doctor shouted. `The connection'sbeen there all along. All you have to do is recognise it!'

   `I was... I was dying!' Romea stared across at the othercolonists. `We all were!'

   A colonist cried out, his face wearing the same wide-eyed expression as Romea. `I... I see it too!'

   There was another cry, then a gasp. Another colonistfell to her knees, sobbing, while another held his hands infront of his face and gazed at them as if they belonged tosomeone else.

   Whatever was affecting the colonists was moving fast,jumping from one to another like a high-voltage charge.There was more weeping. Some of them just stood andshook their heads. Their faces were pictures of despair andwonder.

   Martha shot the Doctor a puzzled look.

   `The Pilot System explained things,' the Doctor began.`I ran into her by accident, really. I was on my way herebut must have taken a wrong turn around the atmosphericscrubbers. Anyway, I came across a system node andintroduced myself.'

   `Never mind that I was about to get my head bashedin,' Martha scolded him. But she was smiling.

   The Doctor shrugged and returned her smile. `One look

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at the surveillance system feed showed me things weregetting bad down here. I had to come up with somethingthat would stop everybody killing everybody else. That'swhen I caught sight of the Pilot's log.

    `The Artificials are linked to the Pilot System.Cybernetic grafts performed in vitro.' The Doctor tappedthe side of his head. `It's how she wakes them up whenit's time for a spot of housekeeping, or if there's a problemon board.'

    `Like the cryo-system failing?'

    `Exactly. Well, it turns out that the failure wascatastrophic. Fatal.'

    `We know that. Romea told me the rest. Half thecolonists died.'

    The Doctor shook his head.

    `Not half. All of them.'

    There was a sudden clatter from the metal ladder thatled to the walkway. Treve had slid from about halfway up.He now clung grimly to the handrail, having regained hisbalance, but the look in his eyes was wild. Romea ran tohim. `Dad!' she cried softly. `Oh, Dad.'

    `Impossible!' Treve muttered, barely noticing hisdaughter. `Impossible!'

    `Some people are going to have a hard time gettingused to this,' said the Doctor.

    `Getting used to what?' Martha asked.

    `Being Artificial,' the Doctor told her. `When the cryo-system crashed, the shock killed a lot of the colonistsoutright. Others died more slowly. The Pilot System wokeall available Artificials to revive the rest, but it was too

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late. So they did the next best thing: they downloaded thecolonists' personality imprints and kicked the Artificialproduction line into high gear. They used up every lastdrop of raw material to create bodies for as many of thecolonists as they could save. Even used DNA from thecolonists' bodies to make sure they looked pretty much asthey looked when they went into storage.'

   `They grew new bodies for the colonists?' Marthalooked from colonists to Artificials and back. Suddenlyshe was seeing how alike they looked, behind theirsuperficial differences. `Why didn't they tell them?'

   `Thought it might freak them out, so soon after theshock of losing so many of their loved ones. Then, astensions grew between them, they thought it mightprovoke violence. Much better that they discover it forthemselves.'

   `These new bodies have the same cybernetic link as theArtificials?' Martha asked. `So that's why they could hearyou in their heads, too?'

   `They didn't know it was there. Your friend Romea wasprobably more in tune with it. That could be why she wasattracted to an Artificial. As for the others, all they neededwas a catalyst to get the process started.'

   Martha was watching the colonists. They movedslowly, like people waking from a dream. The Artificialsmoved towards them cautiously, offering support andwords of comfort.

   `They were about to kill everyone to stop the Artificialsacting like people,' she said. `But everybody's artificialnow.'

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    `Everybody's artificial now,' the Doctor said. `But loveis real.'

    `I've been meaning to ask you,' Martha said. There wasa distant look in the Doctor's eyes which made heranxious to change the subject. `Back in the corridor youmade some weird-looking moves. And you did it on theguy who tried to kick things off again. Time Lord kung-fu?'

    `Amtorian jiu-jitsu.' The faraway look became a smile,as if the Doctor was grateful to have the subject changed.`Masters of the art vow never to use it in public. Justwatching it can do spectators a mischief headaches,nosebleeds and much worse.'

    The Doctor guided Martha away, and they weaved theirway towards the door, making their apologies and passingbetween the groups of Artificials and colonists though,Martha realised, that distinction had lost all meaning.

    `Come on, let's see if I can't give the energy cells anupgrade, make the reserves last long enough to get themwhere they're going provided they don't go starting upthe fabricator prematurely.' His smile broadened and hespun his sonic screwdriver around one finger, gunslinger-style.

    `This Amtorian jiu-jitsu,' Martha said as they reachedthe door. `You any good at it?'

    `Not bad, actually. I always meant to take my final rankgrading very fetching belt: purple and puce...'

    The travellers stepped into the dimly lit corridor. Itwould be the last time any of the generation ship'spassengers would remember seeing them.

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   `... I just never got around to it. Takes ages, you see,and takes place any time, anywhere. You can be taking abath, shopping or just walking down the street when oneof the masters jumps out and attacks you...'

   They made their way back to the TARDIS, standing ina huge empty cargo space that, Martha hoped, would oneday be full of fabricator-made equipment with which thecolonists would begin to build a new world forthemselves and for those they once considered merelyArtificial.

   The Doctor was about to open the TARDIS door whenhe hesitated, key raised.

   `Did you hear...?' he said. His eyes darted this way andthat, checking the shadows.

   `You did tell the Amtorians you weren't taking thatgrading, didn't you?' Martha asked.

   `Yes! Absolutely. Probably.' The Doctor slotted homethe key and pushed the door open a little too urgently forMartha's liking. `Perhaps... we should be going!'

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    `We are not unsympathetic,' said the Drast. Standing

    on the observation platform with the Segue slowly

    flickering below them, the beautiful masked faces of the

    Drast looked at Martha.

        For a moment, she felt a flutter of hope. `Then you'll

    help me?' she asked.

        `We will not help you,' said one of the Drast.

        `But you should not be disheartened,' said another.

        `What do you mean?' asked Martha, puzzled.

        `Your species will not suffer for very much longer,' said

    the first Drast.

        `As soon as the Segue is successfully calibrated, we

    will leave this world,' said the second. `When we leave,

    we will be obliged to open the Segue more fully.'

        `This will cause a catastrophic quantum collapse,' said

    another. `It is an unfortunate but necessary consequence of

    full Segue operation.'

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     `The Earth will be disintegrated,' another told her. `TheMaster will die.'

     `The human race will be put out of its misery andspared a future of suffering.'

     `No!' Martha stammered. `No, no! That's not what Iwant! I don't want you to kill us all! I don't want you toput us out of our misery! I want you to help us!'

     `We thought you would be content,' said the Drast.

     `This is what will take place,' said one.

     `We consider it favourable,' said another.

     Martha took a few steps backwards in shock, toostunned to speak. The enormity of what the Drast had justtold her, so clinically and matter-of-factly, began to sinkin.

     In order to save the world from the Master, she nowhad to save the world from the Drast.

     `Begin the next recalibration test,' the Drast said.

     In the chamber below her, the armed guards wereleading in the next volunteer.

     It was Griffin.

     He glanced up at her, but did not acknowledge her. Hewas busy fiddling with the buckles of his safety harness.

     `This is loose,' he told one of the guards. `I don't wantit coming off. Can you tighten the buckle? I can't reachit.'

     Griffin glanced up at her again. This time he winked.With a sudden chill, Martha realised that Griffin wasabout to try something. He was surrounded by guards. Theidiot was going to get himself killed. She had to dosomething. She had to distract them.

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    `Stop!' she shouted from the platform. `That man's nota suitable candidate for the Segue!'

    The Drast turned to stare at her, questioningly. Downbelow, the guards faltered and looked up at the platformfor clarification. Their attention was no longer focused onGriffin.

    One of the guards had moved in to adjust Griffin'sharness. As he and the other guards looked up, Griffinripped out a fist and floored him. At the same moment,Griffin grabbed the trailing safety line and lashed itaround like a skipping rope, snagging the other two guardsaround the knees. With a savage snap of the line, Griffinflipped them both onto their backs. It happened so fast.

    Griffin knelt, delivered another vicious punch to makesure the first guard was unconscious, and then took holdof the man's machine gun. As the other two guardsattempted to rise, he shot them both at close range.

    The whole episode had taken less than four seconds.

    Alarms started to sound. The Drast looked down fromthe platform in dismay.

    `What is he doing?' asked one.

    `He is deranged,' said another.

    `Contain the Segue Chamber,' ordered a third.

    `Oh, Griffin, you maniac! What are you doing?' Marthamurmured as she stared down into the chamber. Moreguards were storming into the vault. Griffin had detachedhis safety line and was rushing towards the obelisk plinth.The guards seemed reluctant to take a shot for fear ofhitting the Segue assembly.

    `Detain him,' said one of the Drast.

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   `Disarm him.'

   `This is unfavourable.'

   Griffin stood on the plinth. He had a predatory grinplastered all over his scarred face. He looked up at theobservation platform and yelled, `You see me? You seeme, up there? I'll be honest, I don't know how this thingworks!' Griffin aimed his captured machine gun at the oneof the obelisks. `But I'll bet real money that emptying anentire clip into it on full auto is going to be bad news!'

   `The test candidate must not be allowed to damage theSegue,' said one of the Drast. Behind their masks, theDrast were glowing brightly, as if in a heightened state.

   `Is he right?' Martha demanded. `What would happen?'

   `Concussive, explosive trauma to the Segue assemblycould cause Segue generation failure,' said one of theDrast.

   `There is also a probability,' said another of the Drast,`that concussive, explosive trauma to the Segue assemblycould trigger a cascade reaction in the Black HoleConverter.'

   `And that would mean?' Martha urged.

   `This island group would be annihilated in a massgravitational implosion.'

   `Do you hear me?' Griffin yelled. `Call off your goonsand let me and the volunteers out of here, or I'll shoot. I'mnot kidding around! What's it going to be?'

   `I think you should listen to him,' Martha told theDrast. `I really think you should.'

   `Why?' asked the Drast.

   `Because he's one of the most ruthless men I've ever

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had the misfortune of meeting,' said Martha. `Heabsolutely means what he says.'

   `This is unfavourable,' the Drast chorused, glowingmore brilliantly.

   `Don't push him,' warned Martha. `Shut the Seguedown.'

   `That is an unfavourable option,' said one of the Drast.

   `The Segue is linked to the Zone's primary power grid,'said another.

   `So?' asked Martha.

   `If we shut the Segue down, it will cause a powerblackout across the entire industrial sector.'

   `I don't think you've got a lot of choice,' said Martha.`Unless you want to risk him blowing us all up.'

   `A power blackout would collapse our disguise fields,'said one of the Drast.

   `It would reveal us to the Master,' said another.

   `Well, that's a shame,' said Martha. `If your disguisefields collapse, you'll have to find a new place to hide.Alternatively, you can die right now.'

   `I'm waiting!' Griffin roared.

   The Drast looked at one another.

   `Initiate Segue shutdown,' the Drast said.

A painful prickle of static filled the air. There was a loudseries of bangs as power systems cut off or switched tostandby. The lazy lightning bolt of the Segue shivered andthen vanished in a belch of gas and overpressure.

   Koban plant plunged into blackness.

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Kuro, Shiro and the other manufacturing plants went dark.Blackouts overtook the Aka and the other slave camps.Grid by grid, block by block, Yokohama, Tokyo and theentire bay area went out.

   In the first ten minutes of the blackout, panic boiledthrough the labour zones, the Marine Terminals and theplant domes. After twenty minutes, rioting began. Gunfirewas rattling out across the smog-bound megapolis sector.Frantic workers were overwhelming UCF riot squads.

The Drast had fled. Martha never found out what becameof them. She suspected that their lives didn't last very longafter the shutdown.

    Martha moved through the Koban plant. There was nolight. With the disguise fields cancelled, her perceptionfilter had started to work again. Frantic guards bumbledpast her in the gloom.

    She located the holding room, and took off her key. Thevolunteers were in a state of terrified pandemonium.

    `Come on!' she yelled. `It's me! It's Martha!'

    `Listen! It's Martha!' Hito cried.

    `I'm going to get you out of here!' Martha shouted.`Follow me!'

    `Martha!' Tokami wailed. `It is so dark! Are we goingto perish?'

    `No, we're not!' Martha said. `Follow me!'

Terror strangled the pitch-black tunnels and hallways ofKoban plant. Griffin heard gunfire chattering andbooming in the corridors around him. The guards were

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shooting at anything and everything, even each other.

   He hugged the walls, the machine gun in his hands. Hiseyes were adapting to the gloom.

   Two guards in hazmat suits came racing around acorner ahead of him. He aimed the gun, closed his eyes,and let off a spray of rounds. No point letting muzzle flashdestroy his twilight vision.

   He checked the corpses, helping himself to spare clipsand a pistol. In one bloodstained pocket, he found amobile phone.

   Griffin switched it on. The service finder icon whirledhopelessly, on the bright little screen, for over a minute.Then it stopped, and the icon of the Archangel Networkappeared.

   Griffin grinned. He'd had the number on his phone forsix months. He'd learned it by heart.

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    A serious sense of alarm had begun to spread on the

    operations deck of HMS Valiant.

       `Yokohama/Tokyo Zone is not responding,' one

    operator reported.

       `Power reads as down. I've got reports of rioting,'

    called another.

       `This is bad,' said the deck officer, reviewing the

    reports as fast as they came in. `This is a disaster. The

    guidance plants have closed down.'

       `Someone will have to tell him,' suggested an aide.

       `Not yet! God help us, not yet!' the deck officer

    exclaimed. `He'll go ballistic! You know what he gets like

    when he hears bad news!'

       `Shoot the messenger?' the aide said.

       `He'd shoot us all,' replied the deck officer. `Or worse.

    Why did this have to happen on my watch?' The aide

    declined to answer. The deck officer turned to the staff

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manning the operation stations. `Get me a completepicture. Full spectrum sweep, all the data you can get.Route Toclafane shoals from North Korea and Russia.Wake up UCF Taiwan and find out if they know what thehell's going on. If I've got to report bad news to him, Iwant it to be the full picture.'

   The operations staff got to work. The air became busywith chatter and demands for info.

   At her desk, disturbed by the patchy, desperate datacoming out of Japan, the ADC jumped when her phonerang. She answered it.

   `Griffin, this will have to wait,' she said. `We've--What? Where are you? Say again? You're where? Slowdown! Slow down, Griffin... Start at the beginning...'

   When she finished the call, she saw a look on the deckofficer's face as he read the reports.

   `Sir?' she said.

   `It's a disaster, ADC,' the deck officer said. `Theguidance plants were a vital resource, and they've gonedark. It's mayhem down there.'

   `Do you want me to take this to him?' the ADC asked.

   The deck officer looked at the ADC as if she'd justsaved his life. She probably had.

   `Would you?' he asked.

He was standing on the bridge, in his tailored suit, gazingpensively at the world he had brought to its knees. Astyrants went, and they all went one day, he lookedremarkably chipper.

   He looked around as the door chimed open. The ADC

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walked in.

    `See?' he smiled. `My day just got even better. Agorgeous young lady in uniform. Ah, the perks of power.'

    `Sir,' the ADC saluted.

    He hand-slid down the stair-rails to greet her, alascivious grin on his face.

    `Keep "sir"-ing me like that, and I'll promote you toqueen,' he said. `There must be somewhere that needs aqueen. I'll look into it. What have you got for me? Not allbad news, I hope?'

    `Some bad news, I'm afraid, sir.'

    His face darkened. `Oh dear,' he said, deflating. `Notanother food riot in Brazil. I hate it when that happens.'

    `No, sir,' said the ADC cautiously. `There's been anincident in Honshu.'

    `Honshu? Japanese Honshu? I don't like the sound ofthat. I've got a lot of interests in Honshu. Show me.'

    The ADC handed him the report. He read it overrapidly.

    `The whole zone?' he asked. `The whole zone? All ofthe guidance plants?'

    `Yes, sir. Power has been down for sixty-four minutes,sir.'

    He took a deep breath and scratched his forehead. `I'mreally going to be obliged to kill someone about this,' hesaid.

    `I'm certain you are, sir,' the ADC said. `There isanother factor for your consideration.' She handed himanother sheet of paper. `Transcript of a phoneconversation I took thirty minutes ago. I thought you'd

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want to see it.'

    He read the sheet.

    `The Drast? The Drast? Here?' he said. `Those fortune-hunting, glowy-glowy, entrepreneuring nobodies? TheDrast? Did you know anything about this?'

    His last remark was aimed at the wizened old mansitting in a wheelchair by the window. The wizened oldman didn't reply.

    `Still, the Drast?' he said, leaning back and cocking hishead to one side. `I'll teach the Drast to mess with me.Bioluminescent idiots. And I was starting to like Japan somuch.' He looked at the ADC. `Calm your pretty head,' hesaid. `I'm not angry with you. Who could ever be angrywith such a gorgeous thing? Summon the Toclafaneswarms. I want the Drast to know, without anyqualification, who's Master.'

    `Yes, sir.'

    He pursed his lips and chewed his jaw to and fro for amoment.

    `Burn the islands,' he decided. `Yes, burn them. We canbuild guidance somewhere else.'

    `Yes, sir.'

    He looked at the wizened old man in the wheelchair.The old man's eyes were glaring, hooded by extreme time,painfully disapproving.

    `Oh come on,' he cried, enthusiastically. `Vengeancecan be so much fun!'

Martha Jones watched, from a container ship leaving theport of Yokohama, as Japan died. Swarms of Toclafane

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screamed in, unleashing laser death. The cities began toburn.

   Knowing that the Master's attention had turned onJapan, knowing that he would be furious about the Drast,Martha had skipped onto the first boat out, unseen, thanksto her perception filter.

   She knew she couldn't be anywhere near the Master'sfocus. The container ship was heading for San Diego. Shewould make landfall in the USA in a few weeks. In herhurry to escape, Martha had left Hito, Tokami and theother volunteers to cope in the hinterlands behind Kobanplant.

   She had known the Master would be angry. She hadknown he would be vindictive. She had hoped he wouldsend forces in to seize and dismantle the Drast plant atKoban.

   She had underestimated his venom. She hadunderestimated it too much.

   He wasn't going to be vindictive. He was going to begenocidal.

   The islands of Japan burned.

   The islands were on fire. Gigantic plumes of flamegushed up out of Tokyo and Chiba. Though the ship wasfar out at sea, flakes of soot fluttered down onto them.

   For the first and only time in her year of walking,Martha allowed herself to cry.

   She cried for a long time.

The streets were burning.

  Gun in hand, Griffin stumbled out into the open.

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Smoke was everywhere.

   Two Toclafane globes zipped down to meet him.

   `I'm clear! I'm UCF!' he shouted. `I was the one whobrought you here! Come on now!'

   `This person is unidentified,' chuckled one globe.

   `Let's kill him,' giggled the other.

   `I'm the one!' Griffin yelled. `I'm the one who broughtyou in!' He opened his phone. `ADC? Where's thatextraction you promised? I'm in a fix here!'

   The hovering Toclafane snapped out their blades.

   `That's not soon enough! ADC! For God's sake!'

   The globes whirred forwards.

   Griffin shrieked.

It felt as if the whole world was made out of night.

    Their small boat was racing the swell against aninvisible coast. The sky was starless and dark, and the seawas like black glass.

    The little outboard motor chugged. The enclosing nightwas cool, and smelled of brine and Channel breezes. Theyear was almost up. She had walked the Earth, andwitnessed things that she would never forget.

    A small, blue-white light appeared in the darknessahead of them, tiny but stark. It was a halogen lamp,flashing once, twice; a little cold star shining on an unseenbeach.

    `There!' she said.

    The light began to swing, gently, from side to side.

    They came in through the breakers, the outboard

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throbbing. She felt the boat's belly scrape and rumbleacross the shingle. She got up and jumped out. Cold watersucked at her legs.

    She looked back at the men wrangling the small boat.She couldn't see their faces. She wished she could.

    She ran up the beach towards the light. Her wet bootscrunched over damp sand and pebbles. A young man waswaiting for her on the foreshore, a halogen lamp in hishand.

    She came up to face him, slightly out of breath.

    `What's your name, then?' she asked.

    `Tom,' he said. `Milligan. No need to ask who you are.Famous Martha Jones. How long since you were last inBritain?'

    `Three hundred and sixty-five days,' Martha replied.`It's been a long year.'

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                AcknowledgementsDan Abnett would like to thank Justin Richards, SteveTribe, Gary Russell and Russell T Davies.

David Roden wishes to express his gratitude to: NikkiSmith; Kevin Myers; the brilliant team at BBC Wales;Pauline and Barrie Mansell; and last, but by no meansleast, particular special thanks must go to Guy Siner, forcounsel and comradeship, red wine and being an all-roundgood egg.

Steve Lockley and Paul Lewis would like to thank MarkMorris for the introduction, and everyone who has madeDoctor Who the show we know and love.

Robert Shearman's thanks go to Ian Mond and Liz Myers.

Simon Jowett thanks: all the usual suspects for revivingDoctor Who with such energy, joy and sheer chutzpah;and Mina, my little girl, for reminding me what it's like tobe transfixed, taken over and utterly transported by a pieceof cracking Saturday night telly.

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                         David Tennant reads Pest Control

                               Written by Peter Anghelides

          Launching a new series of audio exclusive stories from BBC Audiobooks

                                  Also available from BBC Audiobooks

    Abridged readings of the Doctor Who novels by cast members from the BBC TV series, with bonus

                                          author interviews

       The Stone Rose              The Feast of the             The Resurrection Casket

      by Jacqueline Rayner            Drowned                           by Justin Richards

            Read by                  by Stephen Cole                         Read by

         David Tennant                   Read by                          David Tennant

                                      David Tennant

      The Nightmare of                The Art of                  The Price of Paradise

        Black Island                  Destruction                         by Colin Brake

         by Mike Tucker              by Stephen Cole                         Read by

            Read by                      Read by                          Shaun Dingwall

         Anthony Head                Don Warrington

     Sting of the Zygons            The Last Dodo                       Wooden Heart

        by Stephen Cole           by Jacqueline Rayner                    by Martin Day

            Read by                     Read by                              Read by

         Reggie Yates               Freema Agyeman                         Adjoa Andoh

           Wetworld                Forever Autumn                         Sick Building

     By Mark Michalowski             By Mark Morris                       By Paul Magrs

           Read by                      Read by                              Read by

       Freema Agyeman                  Will Thorp                           Will Thorp

         Peacemaker                The Pirate Loop                        Wishing Well

       By James Swallow            By Simon Guerrier                   By Trevor Baxendale

            Read by                     Read by                              Read by

           Will Thorp              Freema Agyeman                        Debbie Chazen

                               Available on CD or as a digital download

                                AUDIO BOOKS ON THE GO

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              Also available from BBC Books

               featuring the Doctor and Rose

    as played by Christopher Eccleston and Billie Piper:

                 THE CLOCKWISE MAN

                   by Justin Richards

                THE MONSTERS INSIDE

                    by Stephen Cole

                  WINNER TAKES ALL

                  by Jacqueline Rayner

                 THE DEVIANT STRAIN

                   by Justin Richards

                      ONLY HUMAN

                     by Gareth Roberts

              THE STEALERS OF DREAMS

                    by Steve Lyons

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           Also available from BBC Books

           featuring the Doctor and Rose

    as played by David Tennant and Billie Piper:

               THE STONE ROSE

               by Jacqueline Rayner

         THE FEAST OF THE DROWNED

                by Stephen Cole

         THE RESURRECTION CASKET

               by Justin Richards

     THE NIGHTMARE OF BLACK ISLAND

              by Mike Tucker

          THE ART OF DESTRUCTION

               by Stephen Cole

            THE PRICE OF PARADISE

                 by Colin Brake

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              Also available from BBC Books

             featuring the Doctor and Martha

    as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

               STING OF THE ZYGONS

                   by Stephen Cole

                  THE LAST DODO

                 by Jacqueline Rayner

                  WOODEN HEART

                   by Martin Day

                 FOREVER AUTUMN

                   by Mark Morris

                   SICK BUILDING

                     by Paul Magrs

                    WETWORLD

                 by Mark Michalowski

                   WISHING WELL

                    by Mark Morris

                 THE PIRATE LOOP

                  by Simon Guerrier

                   PEACEMAKER

                  by James Swallow

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                  Also available from BBC Books:

                    The Encyclopedia

                           by Gary Russell

                       ISBN 978 1 846 07291 8

                               £14.99

                 Do you know what was playing

                      on Cassanda's iPod?

                      What was the name of

                     Shakespeare's lost play?

     Where were the Slitheen planning to hide a tribophysical

            waveform macro-kinetic extrapolator?

      There's no need to search time and space it's all right

    here. From Autons to Anne Droid, from Cat Nuns to Canary

     Wharf, from Plasmavores to Pig Slaves... everything you

    need to know about everything you didn't know you needed

                   to know about Doctor Who.

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                    Also available from BBC Books

                   featuring the Doctor and Donna

          as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                  Martha in the Mirror

                          by Justin Richards

                        ISBN 978 1 846 07420 2

                    UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

        Castle Extremis whoever holds it can control the

     provinces either side that have been at war for centuries.

      Now the castle is about to play host to the signing of a

     peace treaty. But as the Doctor and Martha find out, not

                  everyone wants the war to end.

    Who is the strange little girl who haunts the castle? What is

    the secret of the book the Doctor finds, its pages made from

      thin, brittle glass? Who is the hooded figure that watches

     from the shadows? And what is the secret of the legendary

                            Mortal Mirror?

    The Doctor and Martha don't have long to find the answers

     an army is on the march, and the castle will soon be under

                        siege once more...

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                    Also available from BBC Books

                   featuring the Doctor and Donna

          as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                         Snow Globe 7

                             by Mike Tucker

                         ISBN 978 1 846 07421 9

                     UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

           Earth, 2099. Global warming is devastating the

               climate. The polar ice caps are melting.

     In a desperate attempt at preservation, the governments of

       the world have removed vast sections of the Arctic and

    Antarctic and set them inside huge domes across the world.

        The Doctor and Martha arrive in SnowGlobe 7 in the

    Middle East, hoping for peace and relaxation. But they soon

        discover that it's not only ice and snow that has been

                    preserved beneath the Dome.

     While Martha struggles to help with an infection sweeping

    through the Dome, the Doctor discovers an alien threat that

    has lain hidden since the last ice age. A threat that is starting

                               to thaw.

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                    Also available from BBC Books

                   featuring the Doctor and Donna

          as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                     The Many Hands

                             by Dale Smith

                         ISBN 978 1 846 07422 6

                     UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

      The Nor' Loch is being filled in. If you ask the soldiers

     there, they'll tell you it's a stinking cesspool that the city

     can do without. But that doesn't explain why the workers

         won't go near the place without an armed guard.

      That doesn't explain why they whisper stories about the

    loch giving up its dead, about the minister who walked into

              his church twelve years after he died...

    It doesn't explain why, as they work, they whisper about a

                       man called the Doctor.

         And about the many hands of Alexander Monro.

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                   Also available from BBC Books:

             Starships and Spacestations

                           by Justin Richards

                        ISBN 978 1 84607 423 3

                      £7.99 US $12.99/$15.99 CDN

    The Doctor has his TARDIS to get him from place to place

    and time to time, but the rest of the Universe relies on more

          conventional transport... From the British Space

    Programme of the late twentieth century to Earth's Empire

     in the far future, from the terrifying Dalek Fleet to deadly

     Cyber Ships, this book documents the many starships and

       spacestations that the Doctor and his companions have

                     encountered on their travels.

    He has been held prisoner in space, escaped from the moon,

     witnessed the arrival of the Sycorax and the crash landing

      of a space pig... More than anyone else, the Doctor has

      seen the development of space travel between countless

                                worlds.

     This stunningly illustrated book tells the amazing story of

    Earth's ventures into space, examines the many alien fleets

    who have paid Earth a visit, and explores the other starships

      and spacestations that the Doctor has encountered on his

                            many travels...

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                   Also available from BBC Books

                   featuring the Doctor and Donna

           as played by David Tennant and Catherine Tate:

                       Ghosts of India

                            by Mark Morris

                        ISBN 978 1 846 07559 9

                    UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

     India in 1947 is a country in the grip of chaos a country

      torn apart by internal strife. When the Doctor and Donna

       arrive in Calcutta, they are instantly swept up in violent

                                  events.

    Barely escaping with their lives, they discover that the city

     is rife with tales of `half-made men', who roam the streets

      at night and steal people away. These creatures, it is said,

    are as white as salt and have only shadows where their eyes

                                should be.

       With help from India's great spiritual leader, Mohandas

         `Mahatma' Gandhi, the Doctor and Donna set out to

                       investigate these rumours.

     What is the real truth behind the `half-made men'? Why is

     Gandhi's role in history under threat? And has an ancient,

     all-powerful god of destruction really come back to wreak

                     his vengeance upon the Earth?

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                  Also available from BBC Books

                  featuring the Doctor and Donna

          as played by David Tennant and Catherine Tate:

                     The Doctor Trap

                        by Simon Messingham

                       ISBN 978 1 846 07558 0

                   UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

    Sebastiene was perhaps once human. He might look like a

    nineteenth-century nobleman, but in truth he is a ruthless

       hunter. He likes nothing more than luring difficult

    opposition to a planet, then hunting them down for sport.

    And now he's caught them all from Zargregs to Moogs,

                   and even the odd Eternal...

     In fact, Sebastiene is after only one more prize. For this

     trophy, he knows he is going to need help. He's brought

    together the finest hunters in the universe to play the most

       dangerous game for the deadliest quarry of them all.

      They are hunting for the last of the Time Lords the

                             Doctor.

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                   Also available from BBC Books

                   featuring the Doctor and Donna

           as played by David Tennant and Catherine Tate:

                     Shining Darkness

                          by Mark Michalowski

                        ISBN 978 1 846 07557 5

                    UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

     For Donna Noble, the Andromeda galaxy is a long, long

    way from home. But even two and a half million light years

         from Earth, danger lurks around every corner...

      A visit to an art gallery turns into a race across space to

        uncover the secret behind a shadowy organisation.

        From the desert world of Karris to the interplanetary

      scrapyard of Junk, the Doctor and Donna discover that

      appearances can be deceptive, that enemies are lurking

      around every corner and that the centuries-long peace

    between humans and machines may be about to come to an

                               end.

    Because waiting in the wings to bring chaos to the galaxy is

                  the Cult of Shining Darkness.

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                   Also available from BBC Books:

           The Time Traveller's Almanac

                            by Steve Tribe

                        ISBN 978 1 846 07572 8

                               £14.99

         Who are the eminent artists of the 16th, 19th or 21st

      centuries? What are the mysteries of Carrionite science?

      Where do the Daleks come from? Answers to all of these

        questions and more are found in The Time Traveller's

            Almanac, the ultimate intergalactic fact-finder.

      The Almanac draws on resources far and wide, from the

       beginning of time to the end of the universe, to provide

         information on key historical events and great lives,

    important issues in science, technology and the arts, and the

                   stories that have defined each era.

         Fully illustrated with photos and artwork, The Time

     Traveller's Almanac provides an essential biography of the

                         Doctor Who universe.

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                   Also available from BBC Books

                  featuring the Doctor and Donna

         as played by David Tennant and Freema Agyeman:

                      Beautiful Chaos

                            by Gary Russell

                        ISBN 978 1 846 07563 6

                    UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

    Donna Noble is back home in London, catching up with her

     family and generally giving them all the gossip about her

      journeys. Her grandfather is especially overjoyed he's

    discovered a new star and had it named after him. He takes

     the Doctor, as his special guest, to the naming ceremony.

       But the Doctor is suspicious about some of the other

     changes he can see in Earth's heavens. Particularly that

    bright star, right there. No, not that one, that one, there, on

                               the left...

     The world's population is slowly being converted to a new

    path, a new way of thinking. Something is coming to Earth,

    an ancient force from the Dark Times. Something powerful,

                    angry, and all-consuming...

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                Coming Soon from BBC Books

                     featuring the Doctor

                 as played by David Tennant:

                      The Eyeless

                         by Lance Parkin

                     ISBN 978 1 846 07562 9

                 UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

       At the heart of the ruined city of Arcopolis is the

     Fortress. It's a brutal structure placed here by one of

    the sides in a devastating intergalactic war that's long

    ended. Fifteen years ago, the entire population of the

     planet was killed in an instant by the weapon housed

    deep in the heart of the Fortress. Now only the ghosts

                              remain.

     The Doctor arrives, and determines to fight his way

      past the Fortress's automatic defences and put the

     weapon beyond use. But he soon discovers he's not

    the only person in Arcopolis. What is the true nature

    of the weapon? Is the planet really haunted? Who are

    the Eyeless? And what will happen if they get to the

                 weapon before the Doctor?

    The Doctor has a fight on his hands. And this time he's

                        all on his own.

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                Coming Soon from BBC Books

                     featuring the Doctor

                 as played by David Tennant:

            Judgement of the Judoon

                         by Colin Brake

                     ISBN 978 1 846 07639 8

                 UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

    Elvis the King Spaceport has grown into the sprawling

     city-state of New Memphis an urban jungle, where

       organised crime is rife. But the launch of the new

     Terminal 13 hasn't been as smooth as expected. And

                 things are about to get worse...

    When the Doctor arrives, he finds the whole terminal

     locked down. The notorious Invisible Assassin is at

    work again, and the Judoon troopers sent to catch him

        will stop at nothing to complete their mission.

      With the assassin loose on the mean streets of New

    Memphis, the Doctor is forced into a strange alliance.

    Together with teenage private eye Nikki and a ruthless

      Judoon Commander, the Doctor soon discovers that

     things are even more complicated and dangerous

                    than he first thought...

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                 Coming Soon from BBC Books

                      featuring the Doctor

                  as played by David Tennant:

              The Slitheen Excursion

                         by Simon Guerrier

                      ISBN 978 1 846 07640 4

                  UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

    1500BC King Actaeus and his subjects live in mortal

    fear of the awesome gods who have come to visit their

    kingdom in ancient Greece. Except the Doctor, visiting

    with university student June, knows they're not gods at

                       all. They're aliens.

    For the aliens, it's the perfect holiday they get to tour

     the sights of a primitive planet and even take part in

      local customs. Like gladiatorial games, or hunting

       down and killing humans who won't be missed.

     With June's enthusiastic help, the Doctor soon meets

     the travel agents behind this deadly package holiday

       company his old enemies the Slitheen. But can

       he bring the Slitheen excursion to an end without

    endangering more lives? And how are events in ancient

      Greece linked to a modern-day alien plot to destroy

                  what's left of the Parthenon?

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                 Coming Soon from BBC Books

                      featuring the Doctor

                  as played by David Tennant:

               Prisoner of the Daleks

                       by Trevor Baxendale

                     ISBN 978 1 846 07641 1

                 UK £6.99 US $11.99/$14.99 CDN

       The Daleks are advancing, their empire constantly

       expanding into Earth's space. The Earth forces are

      resisting the Daleks in every way they can. But the

    battles rage on across countless solar systems. And now

         the future of our galaxy hangs in the balance...

     The Doctor finds himself stranded on board a starship

       near the frontline with a group of ruthless bounty

    hunters. Earth Command will pay them for every Dalek

      they kill, every eye stalk they bring back as proof.

    With the Doctor's help, the bounty hunters achieve the

     ultimate prize: a Dalek prisoner intact, powerless,

    and ready for interrogation. But where the Daleks are

    involved, nothing is what it seems, and no one is safe.

    Before long the tables will be turned, and how will the

        Doctor survive when he becomes a prisoner of

                         the Daleks?

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                   Coming Soon from BBC Books:

                Companions and Allies

                            by Steve Tribe

                        ISBN 978 1 846 07749 4

                    UK £7.99 US $12.99/$15.99 CDN

      The Doctor has been travelling through space and time

      for centuries, showing his friends and companions the

     wonders of the universe. From Sarah Jane Smith and the

    Brigadier to Martha Jones and Donna Noble, Companions

    and Allies celebrates the friends who have been by his side

     and the heroes that have helped him battle his deadliest

                           foes. Find out:

    · How the First Doctor uprooted schoolteachers Ian and

    Barbara from their twentieth-century lives

    · Why the Third Doctor worked for UNIT

    · How the Fifth Doctor sacrificed his life for Peri

    · Who helped the Eighth Doctor save Earth from

    the Master

    · What became of Rose Tyler and her family

      And much more. Beautifully illustrated and including

         for the first time a complete story guide to the

     adventures of all ten Doctors, this is the definitive guide

               to the Doctor's intergalactic family.

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